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RICHES

WITHOUT WINGS,

THE CLEVELAND FAMILY.

BYl MRS. SEBA SMITH.

Seek not proud riches, but such as thou mayest get justly,
use soberly, distribute cheerfully, and leave contentedly.

Lord Bacoit.

BOSTON:

GEORGE W. LIGHT, 1 CORNHILL.

New York :~136 Fulton Street.

1838.

THE SEW YORK
iPDBUC LIBRARY

776067 A

1 ABTOR, LENOX AND -

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1838, by
Georoe W. Light, in the Clerk's Offiee of Uie District
Court of Massachusetts.

CONTENTS.

Chapter I. — Introduction — ^the Cleveland Home, . 9

Chapter II. — Money not Riches, 21

Chapter III.— Qld Age and Childhood, 30

Chapter IV.— Pride Wounded, 37

Chapter V.— Sabbath Day Thoughts,. 43

Chapter VI. — A Temptation, 51

Chapter VII.— Death in the Country, 60

Chapter VIII.— Idiot Johnny, \.. . . 66

Chapter IX. — Woman in Miniature, 78

Chapter X.— The Henshaw Family, 84

Chapter XI.— Poor Old Hannah, 92

Chapter XII. — A Bereavement, lO*

Chapter XIII. — Comfort in Sorrow, 109

Chapter XIV.— Affliction without Comfort, ... 118

Chapter XV. — ^The Virtuous prosper, J 23

C$hapter XVI.— a Secret, 135

^HAPTER XVII. — Pride and Ill-temper 144

C0HAPTER XVIII. — Conclusion, 152

IX'

RICHES WITHOUT WING$.

CHAPTER 1.

INTRODUCTION-THE CLEVELAND HOME.

'' Perhaps they have beard some talk,-*' Such an one is a
great rich man ;' and another except to it,—* Yes, but be hath
great charge of children ,' as if it were an abatement to bis
riches." Lord Bacon.

Who is willing like a sweet child to sub-
mit to the guidance of providence? — to lay
his head, as it were, upon the bosom of
that beneficent Power, that does, and will
order all for the best? — receiving from the
hand of our great Father his portion of
daily bread, and partaking' thereof with
a cheerful and grateful spirit — taking no
thought for the morrow ? Alas, not one.
2

10 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

All respond to the sentiment, "sufficient
unto the day is the evil thereof;" yet all
enhance the evils of to-day, by anticipa-
tions of the morrow — bringing the possible
ills of the future, to aggravate the trials
of the present. Thus -the sorrows to which
flesh is heir, meted out gently, as we are
able to bear them, are by man's perver-
sity too often viewed in the mass, till his
weak spirit sinks at the prospect.
The quotation has become trite,

Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long :

all profess to believe it, and yet who lives
and acts in accordance with this belief?
A bounteous nature has lavished on every
side a rich provision for all physical
wants. The beautiful relations of kindred
and friends, rise smilngly to gratify the
best and holiest affections and instincts of
our nature. The heavens above, and the
earth beneath, with all their magnificent
display of wonder and of beauty, call forth
the intellect, stimulate, exalt
the higher rational faculties,

CfTEOINKrnOK.

part of 'out natare may be kft onsatisfied,
unprovided with its appropriate alinMBt,
the truths of revelatioo, and the hopes of
immortality are presented to our qNritoal
nature, to woo us even from the beauty
and happiness of earth, to hopes and ex-
pectations more refined, nMNre exalted than
human eye hath seen, or heart of mam
conceived of.

Yet a creature thus endowed, thus
hedged in, as it were, with the very ma-
terials of happiness, has become the slave
of discontent, the child of passion, and the
voluntary subject of misery. But in con-
fessing him to be such, we must allow it
to be the consequence of his own enors:
he has yielded his best faculties to pur-
suits that ought to have exercised only
his inferior powers, and as often as he
has done this, his nature has become de-
based.

Perhaps there is no one passion more
general, or more absorbing, than the desire
of gain. From the " tottling wee thing,"
with its nuts and cake, to the grey-haired

10 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

All respond to the sentiment, " sufficient
unto the day is the evil thereof;" yet all
enhance the evils of to-day, by anticipa-
tions of the morrow — bringing the possible
ills of the future, to aggravate the trials
of the present. Thus -the sorrows to which
flesh is heir, meted out gently, as we are
able to bear them, are by man's perver-
sity too often viewed in the mass, till his
weak spirit sinks at the prospect.
The quotation has become trite,

Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long :

INTRODUCTION. 11

part of 'our nature may be left unsatisfied,
unprovided with its appropriate aliment,
the truths of revelation, and the hopes of
immortality are presented to our spiritual
nature, to woo us even from the beauty
and happiness of earth, to hopes and ex-
pectations more refined, more exalted than
human eye hath seen, or heart of man
' conceived of.

Yet a creature thus endowed, thus
hedged in, as it were, with the very ma-
terials of happiness, has become the slave
of discontent, the child of passion, and the
voluntary subject of misery. But in con-
fessing him to be such, we must allow it
to be the consequence of his own errors :
he has yielded his best faculties to pur-
suits that ought to have exercised only
his inferior powers, and as often as he
has done this, his nature has become de-
based.

Perhaps there is no one passion more
general, or more absorbing, than the desire
of gain. From the " tottling wee thing,"
with its nuts and cake, to the grey-haired

10 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

All respond to the sentiment, " sufficient
unto the day is the evil thereof;" yet all
enhance the evils of to-day, by anticipa-
tions of the morrow — bringing the possible
ills of the future, to aggravate the trials
of the present. Thus the sorrows to which
flesh is heir, meted out gently, as we are
able to bear them, are by man's perver-
sity too often viewed in the mass, till his
weak spirit sinks at the prospect.
The quotation has become trite,

Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long :

INTRODUCTION. 11

Yet a creature thus endowed, thus
hedged in, as it were, with the very ma-
terials of happiness, has become the slave
of discontent, the child of passion, and the
voluntary subject of misery. But in con-
fessing him to be such, we must allow it
to be the consequence of his own errors :
he has yielded his best faculties to pur-
suits that ought to have exercised only
his inferior powers, and as often as he
has done this, his nature has become de-

Perhaps there is no one passion more
general, or more absorbing, than the desire
of gain. From the " tottling wee thing,"
with its nuts and cake, to the grey-haired

10 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

All respond to the sentiment, "sufficient
unto the day is the evil thereof;" yet all
enhance the evils of to-day, by anticipa-
tions of the morrow — bringing the possible
ills of the future, to aggravate the trials
of the present. Thus .the sorrows to which
flesh is heir, meted out gently, as we are
able to bear them, are by man's perver-
sity too often viewed in the mass, till his
weak spirit sinks at the prospect.
The quotation has become trite,

Man wants but Hule here below,
Pf or wants that little long :

all profess to believe it, and yet who lives
and acts in accordance with this belief?
A bounteous nature has lavished on every
side a rich provision for all physical
wants. The beautiful relations of kindred
and friends, rise smilngly to gratify the
best and holiest afiections and instincts of
our nature. The heavens above, and the
earth beneath, with all their magnificent
display of wonder and of beauty, call forth
the intellect, stimulate, exalt and enoble
the higher rational faculties, while, that no

INTRODUCTION. 11

part of our nature may be left unsatisfied,
unprovided with its appropriate aliment,
the truths of revelation, and the hopes of
immortality are presented to our spiritual
nature, to woo us even from the beauty
and happiness of earth, to hopes and ex-
pectations more refined, more exalted than
human eye bath seen, or heart of man
conceived of.

Yet a creature thus endowed, thus
hedged in, as it were, with the very ma-
terials of happiness, has become the slave
of discontent, the child of passion, and the
voluntary subject of misery. But in con-
fessing him to be such, we must allow it
to be the consequence of his own errors :
he has yielded his best faculties to pur-
suits that ought to have exercised only
his inferior powers, and as often as he
has done this, his nature has become de-

Perhaps there is no one passion more
general, or more absorbing, than the desire
of gain. Prom the " tottling wee thing,"
with its nuts and cake, to the grey-haired

10 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

All respond to the sentiment, '' sufficient
unto the day is the evil thereof;" yet all
enhance the evils of to-day, by anticipa-
tions of the morrow — bringing the possible
ills of the future, to aggravate the trials
of the present. Thus .the sorrows to which
flesh is heir, meted out gently, as we are
able to bear them, are by man's perver-
sity too often viewed in the mass, till his
weak spirit sinks at the prospect.
The quotation has become trite,

Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long :

INTRODUCTION. 11

Yet a creature thus endowed, thus
hedged in, as it were, with the very mar
terials of happiness, has become the slave
of discontent, the child of passion, and the
voluntary subject of misery. But in con-
fessing him to be such, we must allow it
to be the consequence of his own errors :
he has yielded his best faculties to pur-
suits that ought to have exercised only
his inferior powers, and as often as he
has done this, his nature has become de-
based.

Perhaps there is no one passion more
general, or more absorbing, than the desire
of gain. Prom the " tottling wee thing,"
with its nuts and cake, to the grey-haired

12 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

sire of three score years and ten, all bow
at the shrine of mammon, with a devotion
and energy modified only by age, circum-
stances and education. So universal is the
homage, that it has ceased to excite our
reprehension, except when exhibited in the
ultra and disgusting manifestation of ava-
rice in the person of the miser.

Let a man devote himself to intellect-
ual, benevolent, or domestic pursuits, tak-
ing little thought for the accumulation of
wealth, and his neighbors will shrug their
shoulders, and with a half sneer, pro-
nounce him " a very clever sort of a man,
but with no energy — who might have been
something in the world, only too indolent
to go ahead," &c. ; while the rash, schem-
ing, all but dishonest man, (ay, even dis-
honest, provided he be sufficiently adroit
not to become amenable to the laws,) is pro-
nounced a " first rate man," an enterpris-
ing, public-spirited citizen — and that, too,
.by the very ones he has contrived to make
his stepping-stones to eminence and pre-
ferment; and they will bend their should-

INTRODUCTION. 13

ers for him to stride over them, and cringe
and fawn upon him, as though wealth
conferred a distinction that angels might
covet. Alas, for poor human nature !

Milton never conceived a finer idea than
when he pakes Mammon, even before his
apostacy, a spirit with a '' downward"
look :

■ " for e'en in Heaven his looks and thoaght
Were always downward beat, admiring more
The riches of Heaven's pavement, trodden gold.
Than aught divine, or holy cise enjoy'd
In vision beatific."

Such an one surely merited his expulsion;
and he still retains his sordid spirit, unre-
deemed by " aught divine," and his wor-
shippers have all assumed his mien, and
trill sooner or later apostatise from the
heaven of excellence and virtue.

The love of gain has become a national
stigma, so far as New England is concern-
ed; and however we may deplore, we
must bow to the justice of the imputation.
With a restless and enterprising popula-
tion, our resources but half appreciated,
the avenues to wealth still unappropriat^
2*

14 RICHE$ WITHOUT WINOS.

ed, and inviting competition — and the
strong but erroneous opinion prevailing
among all classes that riches confer dis-
tinction, that mmvey is power, that wealth
constitutes the aristocracy of America —
it is not surprising that it should be pur-
sued with an eagerness proportioned to
its imagined importance, and that every
grade should start in a chace promising so
tempting a reward.

Some may pretend to palliate or deny
this, but the fact will remain ; though we
do hope, and believe, a better spirit is
springing up among us. In aid of this
better state of feeling, these humble pages
have been prepared. They are the re-
sult of some observation, guided by a
strong desire to awaken, in the minds of
the young more especially, a just appre-
ciation of what ought truly and emphati-
cally to be called riches.

Perhaps some little account of the cir*
cumstances suggestive of the story contain-
ed in the following chapters may be inter-
esting to the reader :

THE CLETELAND HOME. 15

Mrs. Cleveland had been the friend and
companion of my mother in the days of
her girlhood ; and though the subsequent
marriage of each had interrupted and in
some degree suspended their intercourse^
yet I fully believe the attachment was mu-
tually of the strongest and tenderest kind.
For no sooner was I fairly out of school
discipline, with a head, alas, supposed to
be tolerably well stocked, and manners, by
dint of checking, punishment and coer-
cions of every kind — (my poor mother
and teacher must have been very nearly
martyrised by their efforts) — become some-
what sobered and excruciated into some-
thing like propriety, than I was des-
patched on a visit to my mother's friend.
Many and earnest were the charges to sus-
tain the reputation of our family by the ac-
curacy of my deportment, and many the
commissions and messages, which would
fill a volume if penneid down, and at any
rate altogether too voluminous for the gid-
dy brain of a girl of sixteen — and I must
confess with sorrow of heart, almost all of

16 RICHES WITHOUT WINOS.

which were ibrgoUen, except the kisses for
Mrs. Cleveland, and each of the children,
which were duly bestowed, and a large
quantity of love, which I distributed when
some little circumstance or word happen-*
ed to bring it to my memory. But some
mementoes of friendship which my mo«
ther did up in packages to be presented to
her quondam friend and her family, being
of a more palpable nature, were less likely
to be forgotten ; and these received all the
attention to which they were entitled.

However, I met with a warm reception ;
and the awe with which Mrs. Cleveland's
quiet and dignified manners first inspired
me, gradually gave way to the wannest
attachment; and I became familiar with
her cheerful, winning, and loveable quali^
ties, (I must coin a word, for nothing else
will give an idea of what she really was.)
I soon began to consider her — and every
year has added to this impression — as one
of the most excellent, and at the same time
best-bred women I had ever seen. I was
surprised at this; for on entering their

THE CLEVELAND HOME. 17

dwelling, its extreme diminutiveness, and
paucity of furniture, almost gave me an
idea of poverty — an impression instantly
corrected, and at the same time, to me
then quite puzzlingly so, by the air of
taste and comfort everywhere visible.

The house was of one story, almost em-
bowered in foliage ; for two large elms in
front spread their pendent branches to the
very roof, and the honeysuckle and wood-
bine clustering about the windows, min-
gled their fragrance with the rose tree,
trained and cultivated in every nook. The
house contained one room, which served as
sitting and dining room and parlor, a small
porch serving as kitchen for the orderly
Utile household. Two small rooms were
appropriated as sleeping rooms; the one
for ray host and hostess, the other for
the elder Mr. Cleveland. The attic was
neatly arched and plastered, making two
rooms — one for George, and one for his sis-
ter Mary, who cheerfully received me as
her room-mate.

It was near the close of a summer's day

18 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

nvhen I reached the place of my destina-
tion ; and I shall never forget the pretty
group collected about the little room. Mr.
Cleveland was seated by his wife's work-
table, entirely absorbed in a book he was
reading. Mrs. Cleveland was engaged at
her needle, and apparently listening and
responding to the conversation of her fa^
ther-in-law, a venerable looking gentle
man, who would instantly suggest an im*
age of one of the patriarchs of old. George
and Mary were engaged in a suppressed
frolic with little Edward ; now carrying
him to the pots of beautiful exotics, which
flourished about the room, and then
snatching him away, to enjoy his chuck-
ling laugh. Occasionally the little fellow
would seize a branch, and adhere to it till
the children trembled for the fate of the
favorite.

All was order and rational happiness. I
observed, that Mr. Cleveland's coat was of
a coarse texture, and had evidently seen
much service; but his countenance was
manly and intellectual, and I soon found

THE CLEVELAND HOME. 19

he appeared obliging and polite, though I
must confess, somewhat reserved, and
commanding. This impression has always
remained. Mary, however, has ever re-
tained the strongest place in my recoUec-'
tiona At that time she was between ten
and eleven — ^ardent, affectionate, and inqui-
sitive to the highest degree, — conscious of
her faults, yet from the impetuosity of Ker
nature, extremely prone to commit them,
but so ingenuous in confessing them, and
so desirous for amendment, that it has al-
most seemed to me that I loved the child,
not in spite of her faults, but, as Charles
Lamb is said to have loved his friends,
faults and all. I think it was so ; for those
very faults served to make up her charac-
ter — ^made her the warm-hearted, frank,
generous being she always was. And, as
her character became consolidated, and
higher and holier feelings were developed,
this impetuosity became a beautiful ^thu-
siasm ; rendering her the good daughter, the
kind sister, the devoted wife and mother,
and to me, the dear, the invaluable friend ;
by the buoyancy of her spirits, relieving

^0 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

the pressure of misfortune, and casting the
sunshine of her own glad heart over every
shadow that care or sorrow would fling:
over those she loved. Let others admire
the cold, the negatively good ; it is the im^
passioned alone that are capable of great
excellencies, great virtues. True they may
be perverted; and then we mourn, even
with a sorrow half amounting to admira-
tion, over those that fall, but fall like Lu-
cifer : but when properly directed, they be-
come as stars — the beautiful, the gifted^
the excellent of the earth.

In giving the annals of the Cleveland fam-^
ily, the materials have been gathered from
circumstances and conversations that came
under my own observation, during a se-
ries of years, when I was a frequent and
welcome visitor at their fire-side. I shall
commence with a conversation, to which I
listened shortly after my first introduction
into the family, and which impressed me
strongly, as evidencing the judicious and
skilful method of Mrs. C. in correcting the
erroneous sentiments which her daughter
had unfortunately contracted.

CHAPTER II.

MONEY NOT RICHES.

" I know thee rich, what woold'st thou more,
Of all migiit Heaven impart }
I know thee rich in mental lore.
And doablj rich in wealth of heart."

" O mother, dear mother," cried Mary
Cleveland, entering the room much excit-
ed, " if we were only rich "

" Rich, my dear," returned Mrs. Cleve-
land, quietly, " 1 thought we were, very
rich."

" We rich ! mother. Now do n't fiin ;
for I really wish I was rich as Yirginia
Mason." And Mary looked half surprised
and half fretful, either at what her mother
said or something else.

'^I was not funning, to use your word,
Mary, for I certainly think we are rich."

Mary did not speak, hut she looked
around on the plain floor, and the old oak
chairs, and tahle, almost with contempt
3

22 filCHES WITHOUT WINGS.

** Are they not very comfortable, my
child, and all quite clean ? "

" Oh yes, mother, but "

" Well, then we are rich in cleanliness,^*

Mary laughed: — *'I don't call that
riches ! "

''I do, Mary; and it is a kind that I
think Virginia Mason is rather poor in.
And look at that fine geranium, that you
are handling so roughly; is it not very
beautiful ? — sand those delicate shells youi
uncle brought from sea; observe the grace
of their forms, and the perfection of their
colors; and then think how beauty is lav-
ished on every side of us, if we have but
the power to perceive it. Did you ever
see Virginia pause to admire a flower, an
insect, or a shell? '*

" Oh no, mother ; why should she, when
she has things so much richer ? "

" I do n't quite agree with you, Mary.
Suppose you could have pearls and dia-
monds, gold and silver, as abundantly as
if you had Aladdin's lamp ; would you be
.willing to be so placed that you could nev-

MONET NOT RICHES. 23

er see the green earth, the bright flowers,
or hear the music of the birds, but only
behold the glitier of jewels while you
live?"

'^ Oh no, indeed, mother ; I should be
Very, very wretched ; " and the tears al-
most started to the eyes of the little girl.

'' Then you think the trees, flowers and
birds would yield you the most pleasure*
They are then the most valuable ; and yet
they cost us nothing. They are to be found
im every green grove, and by every way-
side, filling the air with music and perfume,
and the hearts of intelligent creatures with
happiness. Now Virginia has no eyes, or
heart, for these things ; and I think my
own little girl is richer in that respect, for
she has a taste to enjoy all the beautiful
things that our heavenly Father has made ;
and that is a part pf her riches. Virginia
appears like a well disposed little miss,
if she were properly instructed."

Mary put her arms about her mother's
neck, and whispered gently, '' I am rich,
too, in such a mother."

24 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

Mrs. Cleveland knew the tears were in
Mary's eyes, and she kissed her tenderly,
but did not speak. At this moment the
babe in the cradle pulled down the muslin
screen with a quick motion, and lifted up
his head, his eyes bright with health, and
hair curling with moisture; and George
came in from the fields with his hands full
of wild flowers.

The children proceeded to place them in
a glass of water, while Mrs. Cleveland in-
structed them as to their names and prop-
erties, and taught them to observe the
minutest shade of grace and loveliness.
Mary selected some of the delicate blos-
soms of the blue-eyed grass to amuse the
infant with, till her mother could finish a
coat she was mending for her hutsband.
When it was done, baby was duly caress-
ed, to the great delight of George and
Mary.

" Mary, there is another kind of wealth,
of which I would speak.' Your father is
intelligent, virtuous and afiectionate; are
we not rich in him ? " The children lean-

MONET NOT RIOHES. 85

ed their beads upon ber shoulder, and she
put her arms around them, and drew them
to her heart. '^ Yon, my dears, are treas^
ures, richer than all the gold and silver
and jewels of earth. I feel that I am rich,
very rich, while you aje spared to me.
And we are all rich in love for each other."

^^ But; mother," said Mary, '' when I
spoke of riches, I was thinking of the beau-,
tiful dresses of Virginia Mason, and the
grand party she told me she was going to
give. She is to have a new satin frock^
with lace and a sash, on purpose to wear ;
and wine, and cakes, and nuts; and George
and I are to be invited* When I wished
we were rich, I was thinking I should have
to stay at home, because I had no frock to
wear."

.Mary uttered all this with great rapidi-
ty, and with a look of anxiety totally dif**
ferent from her usual happy manner.

" A plain, white muslin frock, Mary, is

quite as pretty, and far more proper, for

a little girl like you, than silks and satin

could possibly be. I should feel, my dear^

26 RIGHBS WITHOUT WINGS.

that you were poor, indeed/should I detect
in you a passion for dress and finery. Did
you ever think, Mary,?. why you like to
visit Virginia Mason ? "

Mary shook her head silently.

'' I know," said George. ^' It is because
she is rich, and has fine things; and Mary
will put up with all her airs, because she
has more money than we have."

Mary looked hurt. '' You are too se-
vere, George," said Mrs. Cleveland. Your
mind is two years older than Mary's, and
we should expect you to think more
justly."

" But, Mary, do you find yoursdf hap-
pier for bdng with Yirginia? "

''Oh no, indeed, mother; she talks so
much of their grand company, and fine
dresses, and rich furniture, that it makes
me feel very poor and little. Now Jane
Goold is gentle, and talks of dolls, and
birds, and flowers ; and when I come from
there, I always feel quite cheerful."

'' Then she is the better playmate. I
should be sorry to see you willing to go

UONKY NOT RICHES. 27

most with a girl of vulgar taste, only be-
cause she happens to have a little more
yellow dust than yourself, when you might
have associates so much m^ore agreeable."

Mr. Cleveland now entered, and the
conversation was interrupted. While par-
taking of their evening meal, the father
observed Mary was quite silent and
thoughtful.

" Well, Mary," he said, " what wise
project have you in your head ? Let us
know; perhaps we can help you a little."

Mary blushedi. " You can, indeed, fa-
ther; but" George looked mischievous,

and his sister, for a moment, v^xed.

^' Let us knowrall, my daugVer," said
her father, kindly.

*f I was wanting to ask you, father, if I
might have a party. Mother is quite wil-
ling."

" Certainly, then," said Mr. Cleveland,
with some surprise.

''And what shall I have for the treat? "
Mary continued.

*^ Oh, you must arrange that with your

28 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

mother. She knows more about such,
matters than I do." Here George laughed
outiight " WhjTy Maryi one would think
you were arranging the affairs of an em*
pire, you look so serious."

" Mary," said Mrs. Cleveland, grarely^
'Met us defer this conversation till yoa
feel more happy. I thought you had more
strength of mind than to let the vulgar
pride of Yirginia affect your spirits.

''I observed, this morning, the sweet
peas were trailing on the ground after the
shower. You and George had better lead
them over the trellis."

The children obeyed with alacrity. As
Mr. Cleveland caressed the inliftnt, while
his wife removed the tea* table, he remark*
ed, " You better not let Mary go so much
with Yirginia: her infihience is bad upon
one so pliant as Mary."

That evening, when Mary was in bed,
Mrs Cleveland went into her room to offer
up her prayers by the bed-side of her
daughter. As the excellent mother, in the
fervency of a gratefid and pious heart,

ttONET NOT RICHES. 29

enumerated the many blessings of her life,
and poured out her heart-felt offering of
thanks and praise, Mary listened with
many tears ; and when her mother stoop-
ed to give her the parting kiss, she whis-
pered gently, " Mother, I am very rich. I
will try to want only the true riches,''

CHAPTER III.

OLD AGE AND CHILDHOOD.

*^ The galherinif eioads of tciue dispel.
That wrap ray soul around ;
In heavenly places make me dwell,
While treading^ eartUy ground."

Jank Taylor,

The next morning, Mary assisted her
mother in washing the dishes, dusting the
room, &c., all of which she did with great
neatness and despatch ; for, with the ex-
ception of a little vanity, and a disposition
easily biased, Mary was a very clever lit-
tle girl. When she had recited her lesson,
and was engaged awhile at her needle, she
again resumed the topic which seemed so
much to occupy her thoughts.

" Mother, don't you wish we were as
rich, I mean had as much money, as Mr.
Mason?"

" No, my dear, I do not : I feel quite
contented with the lot assigned me."

OLD AGE AND CHILDHOOD. 31

"Why then, mother, you know we
could have elegant clothing, and servants :
Virginia told me my hands really looked
brown and hard, from working so much."

" I think there is no sin in that, Mary^
Hands were designed to-be useful. Man
is the only creature on earth that has per-
fect hands ; and as they are given to the
most intelligent of beings, it is rational to*
suppose it was intended he shotild make a
good use of them. I see nothing vulgar in
doing the necessary work for those we
love."

'^ Oh no, mother ; but if we had servants,
we shouldn't need to work ourselves, you
know, but could see to having it all done."

" We are not able to keep thef0, Mary ;
and if we were, I know not that I should
do it, when it is so much more healthful
and agreeable to wait upon ourselves^."

** Mother, I don't quite understand why
some are so much richer — I noean have so
much more money — than others. Now my
father is certainly a great deal pleasanter
and better man than Mr. Mason^ and you

82 EICHES WITHOUT WllCOd.

Mrs. Cleveland shook her head.

" Well, mother, if I must n't say it, I
think you and father deserve to be rich
more than Mr. Mason."

'' I have no doubt of it, my dear, said
Mrs. Cleveland, laughing; and I think we
ure richer."

'^ Now you know what I mean, moth-
er," said Mary, pettishly.

''Yes, my dear; but I am sorry these
foolish notions run in your head so muclt.
As for every real comfort of life, Mary, we
have enough, and more than enough ; and
a great deal of money would disquiet,
rather than make us happy. If you
are going to make yourself so uneasy
about our fortune-^are going to covet the
dross of this world so much — I shall not
regret our income is moderate. Wealth
would only make you a vain, haughty
girl — the contempt of all the wise and
the good."

Mary felt reproved, and was silent for
some time. At length she resumed the
conversation, by asking if her mother knew
how Mr* Mason got his property.

OLD AGE AND CHILDHOOD. 33

'' Mr. Mason was an only child, the son
of a hard working mechanic, who neglect-
ed every thing in life, for the sake of amass^
ing wealth ; and who, when he died, (in
the greatest obscurity,) left his son with
little education or refinement, but a large
fortune. But, Mary, I wish you would n't
talk of the Masons so much. It is really
dangerous to refer so often to our neigh-*
bors."

'' If grandfather should die, do you
think it would make us richer?" said
Mary.

Mrs. Cleveland laid h^r work in her
lup, and looked at Mary very sorrowfully.
She then glanced at the old gentleman, as
he sat in his large arm-chair, the light
resting on bis white locks, and his head
bent reverently over the large Bible, in
which he was reading — for he was nearly
deaf with age; and the tears gathered in
her eyes.

Mary felt shocked at the heartless re-
mark she had made, and she kissed her
mother^ cheek silently, and went into the
4

34 BICBB8 WITHOUT WUfOS.

garden to hide her tears. She soon re-
turned, wirti a bouquet of flowers, which
she presented the old gentleman. Mr.
Cleveland took them, and stroked the head
' i){ the little girl with his trembling hand.
" These are very beautiful, my child ; but
they soon fade. 1 begin to dream ^f flow-
ers that nev.er decay, and skies that are
•ever cloudless. My senses are becoming
locked to the bright things of earth, but
my spirit will soon awake to those joys
that eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor
heart of man conceived of."

Mary looked at her mother, and burst
into tears. " We shall all be young there,"
she said, timidly.

'* Yes, my child, and happy, because we
shall be holy. Mary,'' (he said, addressing
Mrs. Cleveland,) " teach these children to
love, not the things that are seen and tem^
poral, but the things that are unseen and
eternal. Oh that you could feel, all of you,
in part as I do, of how little value are the
things of this world. To me they seem
worthless and dying, while the things of

OLD AGE AND CHILDHOOD. 3S

the unseen world grow every moment
richer, more real and endnring. I long to
put off this mortal, for then I shall he
clothed with immortality."

The old gentleman teaned his head up*
on the back of the chair, and seemed
wrapt in heavenly contemplation.

Mary quietly stole to her moUier's side.

'^ I do not often tell of dreams," said
Mrs. C. to her daughter ; ^' but this morU"*
ing I awoke greatly depressed. It wa&
Hoode time before 1 could tell why. At
length I recollected a dreadful dream I
had. I thought I had read and talked
myself into a belief that there waa no bet-
ter world, where the good would be eter-
nally happy; that the wicked and the
virtuous would both lie down in the dark
grave, to Uve no more forever. I believed
this, I thought, and was very wretehed. A
gloom rested upon everything. The beauti-
ful things of earth were no longer a type of
better things to come, but all spoke the
language of death and decay* Goodness
seemed less lovely than before, because it

36 RICHES WITHOUT WINOS.

would soon pass away, like the pleasant
colors of the rainbow, to be no more re-
membered. Friends and children were
less dear, because we should soon meet no
more. I was glad to awake from a vision
so hideous. But it made me feel, more
than ever, the value of a treasure in heav-
en; the value of those hopes that centre
not in earth. I felt, my dear, that we are
rich, infinitely rich, in the hopes of immor-
tality."

'^ Mother,*' said Mary, '^ do you think I
shall ever be wise and good ? I have to
think, and think a great deal, in order to
do and feel right ; but George does so with-
out any trouble."

'^ Boys rarely have so many little faults
as girls; they are occupied more with
what exalts and excites the faculties. I
. doubt not my little girl will overcome her
wrong ways and thoughts, if she will but
consider them faults. But she must think
more of what is just and right in itself,
And less of what others may think."

CHAPTER IV.

PEIDE WOUND£0.

" Then patient bear the sufierings you have earnedi
And by those safi*erings purify the mind :
Let Wisdom b# by past mitfeoiiduef UMraed."

CaSTLX OW ISDOLXHGJB.

MiiRY's thoughts appeared to run itice»-
santly upon the party of Virginia Marion.
Her clothing, always in perfect order, and
Di&atly arranged, was examined again and
again, to see if alt was as it should be for
the expected ceremony. Her mother bint^
ed the possibility of her not being invited :
Mary was quite sure she should be, for
Virginia had promised if. In the midst of
the conversation, the carriage of Mrs. Ma^^
son stopped at the door. Mary started up
iti great trepidation, and glanced hastily
about the room to see that all was quite
right. Mrs. Cleveland received her guest
with the perfect composure of a wetl^red
woman, who neither receives nor awards
4«

38 BICHBS WITHOUT WIN08.

homage. She was not in the least moved
by the scrutinizing stare which surveyed
every part of the little room ; and when it
at length rested on herself, a slight blush
alone told that she perceived it. But poor
Mary was ready to sink into the earth :
every thing looked meaner and poorer than
ever; and she was quite glad when little
Edward awoke and gave her something
else to look at Mrs. Mason, however,
was not very fond of children, and the
smiles and dimples of the young pet passed
unobserved^ After a few common-place
observations about the weather, Mrs. Ma*
son proceeded to her errand.

She remarked that Virginia was about
to give an entertainment to the young
girls of her won standing, which she in-
tended should be as splendid as any ever
given in the village. Great preparation
had been made, and no expense would be
spared.

Mary listened with a flushed face.

'^Now what I want," continued Mrs.
Mason, '^ is, that you would let your Mary

PRIDB WOUNDfiD. 39

cdme over and help us some about carry-
ing round the light things. I see she is
very handy, and she would see what is
going on, into the bargain."

Poor Mary was too much shocked to
speak; but being a little girl subject to ex-
tremes, she left the room hastily, and burst
into tears. She met her father at the door,
who kindly inquired the cause of her tears.
She was too much agitated to speak.
George put his arm around her neck, and
led her into the garden.

Mrs. Cleveland declined letting Mary go,
as she was entirely unaccustomed to any
thing of the kind. If Virginia were sick,
Mary would be quite ready to wait upon
her; but, under other circumstances, she
must decline.

" Well," continued Mrs. Mason, not in
the least abashed, ^'I hke Mary's turn;
and when she goes out to service — for I
hope you doa't mean to give her grand
airs, above her condition — I should be
very glad to take her into our family ; and
I"

40 RICHES WltHOUt WTtros.

"Itt that case," said Mr. CScrelaad,
coldly, " we will apply, madam/*

" I hope you will," returned Mrs* Ma-
son, "for I really want Mary; and Vir-
ginia, I see, is very fond of her*"

" They are very unsuitable associates,"
dontinued Mr. Cleveland.

" You are really too modest, Mr* Cleve-
land,*' said Mrs. Mason, rising—^' Virginia
has so little pride."

Mr. C. bit his lip, and escorted the lady
to her carriage.

On his return, he threw himself into a
chair, and gave way taan Immoderate At
of laughter. Mrs* C. smiled faintly, for
she bad evidently been somewhat annoyed.
" It is a hard lesson for poor Mary, but I
hope it may do her good," she remarked.

" O, father, doh't laugh so," said Mary,
who had entered the room : " indeed, I can
see nothing ftmny about it."

" I do, Mary, more td laugh than cry
about It will teach you, at any rate, not
to run after Virginia Mason so much."

" Yes ; but it makes me wish more than
ever that we were rich."

PRIDE WOUNDED. 41

*" What, for the pleasure of being im-
pertinent ? "

" Oh no, father; how hard it is for you to
understand me. Because then we should n't
suffer from it."

'^ It causes me no suffering, Mary. But
tell me now what you were weeping at."

Mary went on to tell the whole story.

Mr. Cleveland looked grave. "I see
nothing so very tragical about it, my dear ;
Mrs. Mason has only appeared like a vul-
gar-minded woman, as she is, and your
pride has been a little wounded. Bear it
patiently : it will do you no harm. If it
serves to make you less intimate with
Virginia, I shall not regret it"

" I have had enough of Virginia," re-
turned Mary.

" I am sorry to see you feel harshly,"
said her mother. " Virginia does even bet-
ter than I should expect. It is natural she
should think much of wealth and fashion,
for she has never been taught the love of
better things. But that you, Mary, should
covet such an idle distinction, I can only

43 BICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

impute to the ill influence of her example ;
and I shall not regret a circumstance that
will serve to dissohe the intercourse."

George did nol laugh at Mary this time^
On the contrary, he seemed very tender^
and proposed to assist in arranging the ap^
paratus of her play -room ;> and commenced
immediately the construction of a fine little
table, which was to be carved and painted
in grand style.

CHAPTER V.

SABBATH DAY THOUGHTS.

" t care not, Fortune, what yoo me deny ;
¥oa cftnnot rob me of free nature's grace }
You cannot shut the windows of the sky,
Through which Aurora shows her brightening face ;
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace
The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve :
Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace,
And t their toys to the great children leave :.
Of -fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me1)ereave."

TaoMPfloit.

The next day was the blessed Sabbath.
It would seem as if eren nature were made
to harmonize with the divine spirit of rest.
The little winds scarce rustled the leaf
upon the tree, and the white clouds floated
in the blue sky like the drapery of invisi-
ble spirits. Not a discordant sound broke
upon the ear; every thing was hushed to
quietude, except the sweet music of the
l)irds that every where filled the air with
melody. The young blossoms opened their
dewy petals with a freshness and beauty

44 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

according well with the renovating char-
acter of the day. Little do those know,
who permit the cares and labors of the
week to encroach upon this sacred period
of repose, how much they^wrong the body,
as well as the spirit.

To the little family of our story, the
Sabbath was always hailed with peculiar
pleasure. The employments of the week
were always so arranged that nothing
should disturb the quiet serenity of this
holy day. The simple labors of the house-
hold were quickly despatched ; and when
the weather was fine, the open windows,
around which the woodbine and honey-
suckle formed a curtain of perfume and
verdure, the glasses filled with flowers
neatly arranged, and the Bible, with other
choice books, spread upon the table, im-
parted to the whole domain an air of taste
and intelligence, often wanting in the
houses of the wealthy. They might be
poor, according to the common acceptation
of the term, but could never be vulgar.

This was the only day which Mr. Clevc-

P&IDE WOUNDED. 45

land could devote to his family, his busi-
ness as a mechanic requiring his whole at-
tention the other six days of the week, in
order to meet their daily expenses. This
circumstance contributed to make it still
more a day of rest to his excellent wife,
who found herself relieved of the inces-
sant care of little Edward, and in part of
her attendance upon the elder Mr. Cleve-
land, whose infirmities daily increased.
George and Mary, too, directed the innume-
rable questions of childhood to their father,
instead of their mother, on this day ; and
Mr. Cleveland, with a manner in which
kindness and dignity were happily blend-
ed, led the minds of his children to sub-
jects worthy of their contemplation ; now
teaching a lesson of wisdom from the
experience of past ages, and now inculcat-
ing some lofty truth, from the examination
of a flower, or the construction of a crys-
tal. There is not a leaf or shrub, a ray
of light, a shadow on the hill side, or an
insect in the summer air, but is full of
truth and beauty, to those who have the
5

46 ' RICHES WITHOUT WINOS.

faculty to perceive it. Thus thought Mr,
Cleveland, and he lived up to this convic-
tion. He doubted not the intelligence ^nd
moral strength of his children would re-
ward him for his pains. And most ably
was he sustained by his amiable and strong-
minded wife. With none of the petty am-
bition^ and weak vanity of the sex, Mrs.
Cleveland was perfectly feminine, and pos-
sessed a refined taste and strong native
intellect. Strangers thought her hand-
some, — a circumstance never regarded by
friends, who were in the habit of witnessing
the excellence of her mind and heart.

We have said it was the Sabbath. As
the twilight softly gathered upon the earth,
and the birds began to twitter upon the
branches, the family strolled out to enjoy
the freshness and verdure of the delightful
season. George and Mary took chargc^f
Edward, who seemed " to feel his life in
every limb." Now he plucked the clovers
and buttercups, and now flung all aside,
and tottled off in pursuit of a butterfly.
Anon be tumbled into the green grass, and

niDE WOUNDED. 47

tossed his white arms, and played bo-peep
through the clustering leaves, his eyes and
white teeth gleaming out like gems and
pearls.

Mr. and Mrs. Cleveland gave each an
arm to the old gentleman, walking slowly
and cautiously to suit the infirmities of
age.

"Ah, my children," he said, "beauti-
ful and salutary as is this rest of one day
in seven, it is glorious to feel, that there
yet remaineth a rest for the people of God.
Not the cold, insensible sleep of the grave,
but a rest from toil, from temptation and
infirmity. Ob, it is good to think of these
things, ' ere the sun, or the light, or the
moon, or the stars be darkened, or the
clouds return after the rain.' For me, the
silver cord is loosed, and the golden bowl
oA^arth broken ; desire has failed, and the
grasshopper is a burden. I long now for a
City that hath foundations, whose builder
and maker is God. And now, Lord, what
wait I for? my hope is in thee." His
voice ceased, but his lips moved, as if in

48 ■ BICHrSS WITHOUT WINGS.

prayer. — They had seated the aged one on
a rustic bench beneath the overhanging
branches of an old oak tree.

"Oh this peace,fthis quietude," he con-
tinued, " it seems to raise the weight from,
my senses. Hush !— I hear the young birds
in the branches, and the insects from the
green earth. The odor of wild blossoms
steals over me a« it did^in years gone by;
and the warm summer air fans my cheek
with a sensation it gave me in boyhood.
Is not that the cripple of the brook down
by the mill 3 Yes, yes, it is becoming every
moment more distinct. I had never thought
to hear it again. And the shadow is ro^
moved from the hill side. I see the clouds
floating in the sky, and the spire of the
old church where I loved to meet with the
people of God. Oh, if the longing soul can
thus overcome the obstacles of a decayed
body, how glorious must be its percep*
tions, when it shall have shaken off its
mortal covering. My children, this gleam
oi youth in the midst of the ruins of age,
admonishes me that my lamp must be

PRIDE WOUNDED. 49

trimmed and burning, for the bridegroom
is at hand."

He leaned heavily upon his son's arm,
and arose. He turned to the green woods,
to the blue sky, the far-ojf waters, the
cultivated landscape, and drank in the
whole prospect, as things he might never
see again : then leaning on the arms of tfi|(.
children, returned to the house.

It was evident the convictions of the old
gentleman were about to be realized. On
his return, he retired to his bed, and
seemed much exhausted. He desired to
be left alone, but that the door should re-
main open, that he might hear the evening
songs of the family.

After having sung various hymns adapt-
ed to the capacities of the children, Mr.
Cleveland commenced the grand and appro-
priate notes of Old Hundred, to the words,

** Be thoU; O God, exalted high/'—

and the trembling voice of age joined with
touching pathos in the melody.

When the hymn had ceased, all remain-"
ed silent for some time.
5*

60 RICHBS WITHOUT WINGS.

** Father,'' said George, "I should be tm-
williag to love my friends any less, but I
sometimes think we are not so happy for
loving so well."

^' We must fix our affections upon wor«-
thy objects, Creorge, and we cannot love
them too weH. We must not love them
for wealth, or beauty or accomplishments ;
but only so far as they are assimilated to
the perfection of Him who is perfect in
holiness. If we love deeply, we must love
worthily, even for those qualities that
never perish — that time or death cannot
change, but serve only to exalt and purify.
I would have your standard of txcellence
high; then you will be less likely to be
turned aside by the accidental circumstan-
ces of wealth or beauty."

CHAPTER YI.

A TEMPTATION.

" O cowsird conscience, how dost thoa afflict me ? "
KiSG Richard III.

It was plain to see the influence of the
Masons had for a while disturbed all the
healthy action of the mind of Mary ; had
roused her to feelings and reflections that
else, under the gentle training of her mo-
ther, might haveiain dormant forever.

*' Mary," said Mrs. Cleveland, '*yoil real-
ly appear to envy the wealth of the Mason
family. That you may feel how Wfl|^h*
less is the distinction, let us suppose ]^ a
moment they were stripped of the trap-
pings that surround them ; that they were
obliged to live in a house like ours, and do
ail for themselves ; that they had no more
earthly goods than we have."

" O mother," interrupted Mary, her bet-
ter feelings prevailing, " I hope they never
will, they would be so wretched. Poor

62 RICHES WITHOUT WINOS.

Virginia ! she cares nothing about a gar-
den, or flowers, or shells, or books ; — dear
me, mother, they would be just like the
Henshaw family, you have tried so much
to improve."

" That is quite enough, my dear* You
perceive that mere money, without taste
and intelligence, cannot confer any real
respectability. Now one without money
can be virtuous, can have a cultivated
mind and taste, and be in fact far more
respectable, than the mere money-getter.
And such an one will ^ reality take a
higher stand in society; inasmuch^ as
moral and intellectual wealth is more vaU
uaUfi than dollars and cents. Now, would
you be willing to abandon alf the advan-
tages of a proper education, for the sake of
money?"

" Oh no, indeed, mother ; but if we could
have that, too, replied the pertinacious lit-
tle girl, just think how much good we
could do, and how tastefully and elegantly
we might hve."

" As to the good we might do, my child,

A TEMPTATION. 63

if we are unwilling now to^deny ourselves
little gratifications, in order to relieve the
distresses of others, it is quite evident we
should do but little, in proportion to our
ability, were our means ever so abundant.
And as to living in splendor, I doubt much
the propriety of it, even among the weal-
thy. What right, for instance, has one to
repose in luxury, while another is starving
at his threshold ? Mary, I sometimes feel
to rejoice^ that the resp<Hisibility of a weal-
thy steward has not rested upon us. — I
thought I heard yojjr Grand^sither stir : step
to his room, my dear, and see if he wants
anything."

Mary sooq returned, saying he ^pt
quite gently. • ^^

" I lio wish, mother, you would let me
have a party, nearly as splendid as Vir-
ginia's, by and by, and not ask her."

*' That is a very silly and wicked wish,
Mary ; and one I did n't expectfrom you*
If we were ever so wealthy, I should not
indulge such sinful pride."

Mrs. Cleveland's manner assumed a

54 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

Sternness altogether foreign to her usual
character. "You 'may invite a few of
your friends at a proper time; but the
usual treat of plain cakes, and fruit and
cream, will be all that you must expect,
or ought to desire. It is all that is health^
ful or rational at any time. If people will
ruin their health by gluttony — I must call
it so — we ought not to be accessaries. You
will not certainly invite Virginia — though
not in revenge for her having neglected
you, but because she is a very improper
associate. I ought to h^ve foreseen the ill
effects of her example before now."

Mary felt condemned and unhappy, and
wjpBn her mother ceased speaking, she
made no reply. '

After a silence of som& length, Mrs. C.
again said, " Mary, you know we have a
box in which we all put a weekly contribu-
tion, in order to raise money for the pur-
chase of a library. Would you be willing
to withdraw a part of that, in order to
give an expensive entertainment?"

" Oh no, mother ; I am very foolish ; and

▲ TEMPTATION. 65

I feel very unhappy, too : " and the tears
started to her eyes.

" My poor, dear child," said her mother
tenderly, and drawing her to her bosom,
" you must pray for strength to resist temp-
tation, and to overcome these discontented
feelings. These are new trials ; but if you
are watchful, they will soon be over, and
may make you wiser and better."

They were now interrupted by a knock
at the door ; and Mrs. Cleveland, perceiving
it to be one of the little girls dressed for
Virginia's party, left Mary to attend to her,
while she went into tlie room of the elder
Mr. Cleveland.

She found him in a deep, heavy slum-
ber, from which she tried in vain to rouse
him. George was despatched immediately
for a physician, and Mary for her father.

Nothing could be done. It was the last
exhausting sleep of age and decay.

The family moved with cautious steps
about the little dwelling; for they felt that
death was about to remove one who had
been loved and venerated for years. They

66 RICHES WITHOUT WINOS.

felt that the lips from which they had so
long imbibed the lessons of wisdom and
experience, were about to be closed for-
ever ; that the kind hand would no more
be laid upon the heads of the little ones in
patriarchal blessing; and that soon the
vacant seat would sadly remind them that
the domestic circle had been broken.

Neighbors kindly lent their assistance,
and Mrs. Cleveland, late at night, retired to
her room — leaving her husband and a kind
friend by the bed of the invalid. She vis-
ited, as mothers always will, the cham-
ber of her children. George was sleeping
soundly, as healthy and innocent child-
hood is wont to do; and little Edward,
whom he had taken to bed with him, was
nestled in his bosom, with his arms about
his neck. Mary was to sleep that night
with her mother ; and what was Mrs. C's.
surprise, to find her awake, and weeping
bitterly.

** Why, Mary, my dear child," said the
affectionate parent, embracing her, " why
do you weep so 'I Your grandfather is good,

A TEMPTATION. 57

^nd we have all loved him; but think
what a blessed exchange death will be to
him, and you will not weep thus.'^

** If you knew how sinful I have been,
^aid the- conscience-stricken child, you
would not kiss me. O mother, I do not
deserve anything, I am so wicked."

'* What have you done, my child?" said
Mrs. Cleveland, anxiously.

Mary proceeded to relate as well as she
was able, for sobs and tears, that when
Jane Goold called for her to go to Mrs*
Mason's, she did not confess frankly that
she had no invitation, but told her she
could n't feel willing to go, her Grandfather
was so sick, — thus withholding a part of
the truth, and claiming the merit of an
amiable self-denial.

Mrs. Cleveland did not check the salu-
tary tears of poor Mary ; nor did she at-
tempt to extenuate her fault. She had
thought the principles of her child were too
deeply rooted to yield to such a tempta-
tion. She was disappointed ; and she shed
tears of deep sorrow over her erring daugh-
6

68 filCHES WITHOUT WINGS.

ter. Her children had been taught to re-
gard truth as a treasure, not to be ex-
changed for the wealth of the Indies, or
the gems of Golconda. Often had they
been told how truth ennobles our nature-
how this virtue alone, rigidly practised,
imparts a majesty and elevation to the
character, that can never be attained with-
out it. She thought of all this, and wept
bitter tears over the degradation of her
child. She could not regard the least de-
viation as a little fault, for she knew it
would soon corrupt the whole n;oral na-
ture.

Sinking on her knees, she poured out her
sorrows and fears into the ears of Him,
who is ever ready to listen to the trials of
his ^children, and to impart strength and
consolation.

"If I should live to see the morning,"
said the contrite Mary, "I will go and tell
Jane all. Is it not very strange, mother,
that I should have thought so little of the
sin, at the time I was talking with her? "

" Not at all, Mary. Conscience was sti-

4 TEMPTATION. 59

fled, by the noisy clamor of pride and van-
ity ; and it was not till they were hushed,
that you could hear its still small voice.
You see now, to what your wrong feelings
about the Masons were leading you. You
must subdue sinful thoughts, if you would
avoid wicked actions.

CHAPTER VII.

DEATH IN THE COUNTRY.

** One silent wish, one prayer, one soothing wofd,
The page of mercy shall, well-pleased, reeoid.'*

Hakitah Morx.

The next morning, as the sun arose, Mrs.
Cleveland was by the bed-side of her aged
parent. The deep heaving of the chest, as
it rose and fell, at long intervals, alone told
that life remained. George and Mary en-
tered, and the whole family sank on their
knees beside the bed, while Mr. Cleveland
uttered a short and appropriate prayer. A
deep sob alone broke the stillness of the
apartment, as the soul of the aged one,
gathered like a shock of corn fully ripe,
returned to the God who gave it.

The family retired, while assiduous
neighbors performed the melancholy duty
of preparing the insensible dust for the
grave.

The Clevelsind family was a universal

DEATH IN THE COUNTRT. 61

favorite; and when it was mmored that
death had entered their dwelling, every
heart and hand was ready to do them
good. It might almost be thought their
attentions were oppressive ; but the Cleve-
lands, with native kindness of heart, con-
strued everything favorably, and were tru-
ly grateful for their well-meant assiduity.
When all was arranged for the last painful
ceremony, Mrs. Cleveland endeavored to
infuse into the mind of Mary a portion of
her own cheerful faith in view of death ;
for poor, sensitive Mary was nearly over-
come by this first entrance of death into
the domestic circle. She dwelt on all the
tenderness of her departed friend, his con-
descension and love, and every recollec-
tion added a pang to her sorrow.

While Mrs. C. was thus occupied, one
of the women entered suddenly. "La,
ma'am," she cried, "we've forgot all about
the mourning. What can be done ? I do n't
believe there 's time to do half of it."

"We intend to make no change," re-
plied Mrs. Cleveland, calmly.
6*

6S5 RICHES WITHOUT WUTGS.

" What, not put on mourning ! '' ex-
claimed the astonished woman.

" No," rejoined Mrs. C, '* out dress is
always plain. We shall not sorrow the less
sincerely for wearing it, as it is."

" That may be — ^but nobody will know
it. Why, when my sister's baby died, we
all put on black ribbon — and 'twas a
monstrous expense in a great family like
ourn — but 'twas the least we could do."

^' I think of the example," said Mrs. C,
" as well as the expense. It can do our
friends no good ; and our circumstances will
not conveniently allow any unnecessary
or useless expenditure. Whatever we do
in honor of departed friends, should be a
free-will offering, cheerful and hearty;
when it becomes a burden, it ceases to ex-
cite salutary feelings."

'^ I know you are odd, in some of your
notions," said the other, tartly, "but I
must say, I thought you would show more
respect for your husband's father."

" He was very dear to us ail ; " replied
Mrs. C, gently.

DEATH IN THB OOUNTBT. 63

« Yes — and deserved to be so while he
iiras living — and to have more respect
shown him when dead."

Mrs. G. looked pained, but she made no
reply.

^* I can borry for you poor Betsey's
bonnet," continued the other; "and my
Hannah's will about suit Mary. You'd
better take them to walk to the grave in,
just for the looks of it.

Mrs. C. thanked her politely; but de-
clined.

Death in the country always strikes
more awe and solemnity into the mind^
than it can do in the city. There, every
face is known and familiar ; and when the
countenance of one is changed, and he is
sent to his long home, it strikes like a knell
upon every heart. It makes a chasm that
is long in closing. It is surprising to one
from the country, to see with what apathy
those of the city regard the tolling of the
bell, and the passing of a funeral proces-
sion. They cannot realize that a dense
population can ever make one callous to

64 mCUES WITHOUT WINGS.

such a solemn monition. And our scanty
and thinly attended funerals, too, are pain-
ful in the extreme to their feelings.

Thus should it ever be ; thus do I love
and envy the unsophisticated and unhard-
ened hearts of the country bred. I love
to see the general sympathy manifested,
when one is carried to his last home. Ev-
ery green lane, every dell, and every hill
side sends forth its inhabitants to the sad
ceremony. Tears are shed, and hands
pressed in mute obedience to the ^reat law
of human love, commanding us to weep
with those that weep.

The death of Mr, Cleveland made little
difference in the family, except in a more
subdued cheerfulness. True, George and
Mary missed the kind hand laid upon their
heads in nightly blessing ; and the rural
walk and simple repast seemed more lone-
ly, now that he shared it not. Little Ed-
ward, too, would wander from room to
room, with some trifle that had belonged to
his grand-parent, and turn from each withj
a disappointed look, uttering the word,,
"gone."

DBATH IN THE COUNTRY. 65

The large Bible, that for so many years
had been his solace and companion, occu-
pied its accustomed shelf, with the specta-
cles upon its cover. The large arm-chair,
too, stood in its usual place, and there
seemed to be a tacit understanding with
the little family to allow all to remain as
he left it.

CHAPTER VIII.

IDIOT JOHNNY.

" The cocks, they cried to-whoo, to-whoo.
And the sun did shine so cold.''

Wordsworth.

Many weeks had now elapsed since the
death of Mr. Cleveland, and nothing mate-
rial occurred in our little family. George
and Mary learned their lessons as usual,
gathered wild blossoms, and petted Ed-
ward; and Mrs. Cleveland managed her
household with her invariable order and
quietude.

It was a delightful evening at the close
of summer. In the early part of the day a
heavy shower had refreshed the earth, al-
most drooping undier the intense heat. The
air was still and balmy, and the meek
blossoms of earth breathed out their hap-
piness in perpetual offerings of incense.
Mary assisted her mother to arrange the
table for their evening repast, — and then

IDIOT JOHNNY. 67

all Strolled down the lane to meet Mr.
Cleveland on his return from labor. Ed-
ward chose to march on ahead, while
George and Mary lingered to hear the
sweet instructions of their mother.

" What can Edward be trying to catch,''
aaid George, observing the little fellow
hurrying on eagerly a few steps, and then
stop, stoop down, and try to seize some
object, tickling and shouting in high glee. —
" Here he comes, his little hands locked fast
together."

George spread his hands; and sure
enough the young rogue dropped his treas-*
ure, with great apparent satisfaction, into
his brother's hands. It was a small toad.

George did not drop it, but called Mary
to behold its splendid eyes.

Edward rubbed his frock, danced, and
prattled as if delighted to have contributed
his share to the general amusement.

"He is an ugly animal, though," said
Mary, " if he has got handsome eyes."

"And yet," said Mrs. C, "I have seen
bim w;hen I really thought he looked well."

" When was that," said Mary, eagerly.

68 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

" On a warm quiet morning, when the
heavy dew lay upon every leaf like gems,
and the cabbage in particular was studded
with round drops purer and more brilliant
than pearls, and when, upon turning up a
broad leaf, that rested upon the ground, I
have found his toadship half buried in the
moist earth, and winking his brilliant
eyes. 1 knew then, that not a bug would
trouble the vines anywhere about, and this
thought, together with his tasteful canopy,
made the toad look quite handsome.''

The children laughed; and Edward
louder than either, as if he understood the
whole matter.

Mary caught him in her arms, and cov-
ered him with kisses. Poor Edward strug-
gled manfully, and sister was glad to put
him dt)wn again.

Half pouting, he stalked on ahead with
great dignity. In fact, he seemed for this
time the champion in search of adven-
tures, — for he had not gone many paces,
when he stopped, and seemed addressing
some one with great tenderness : spread-*

IDIOT JOHNNY. 69

ing out his arms, and using all the endear-
ing words in his vocabulary — dear Kitty,
&c. — all uttered with the utmost kind-
ness of tone.

The party hurried on, and there, half
naked, stretched at full length on the
ground, they found a poor miserable ob-
ject, a glance at whom convinced Mrs. C.
he was an idiot, or what the Scotch so
beautifully term an innocent.

Mrs. Cleveland enquired where he came
from ; but he did not seem to comprehend
her, for he only turned upon her his red,
dull eyes, and murmured, *' Mammy."
Mary gave him an apple she had in her
pocket. He seized it eagerly, and ate like
one suffering from extreme hunger. When
it was gone, he sank his head again upon
the turf, the spittle running down his chin,
which was rough and inflamed, and again
muttered in a tone of fearful agony, what
appeared to be the only word he could
command, and the only one that awaken-
ed any emotion, " Mammy."

" Where is your mammy?" said Mrs.
7

70 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

C, kindly. He uttered a wild cry, and re-
peated the word several times in a low,
distressed tone of voice.

Mr. Cleveland was now seen approach-
ing, to the great relief of the little group.

He recognised the boy at once as having
strayed away from the Alms-house, and
started immediately for proper assistance.
The family, in the mean while, returned to
the house to procure him a bowl of bread
and milk*

All chose to delay tea for a stroll in the
garden, till the return of Mr. Cleveland ; or
rather, we should use the common term
"supper," for tea and coffee were rarely
introduced into the family.

Edward stopped to talk, and smell of
every flower, rarely taking one from the
stalk. This did very well, though he
sometimes handled them pretty roughly,
scattering the petals like a shower of rain-
bows upon the ground. No one thought
to check him, while the harmless sport af-
forded him so much pleasure, till George
detected him trying to force down a splen-
did dahlia to his little &t face.

IDIOT JOHNNY. 71

** Let him pijH itdown," said Mary ; ** for
I dt)n't like dahlias very well, they look so
proud and gorgeous. But here i^ my dear
little heart' s-ease ; the prettiest thing in
the world, if it is common."

" Hike dahlias, though," replied George.
** Just see how this golden powder, scatter-
ed over its leaves, glitters in the light — and
if it i9 gorgeous, and rich, it bends its head
very gracefully, as if it did n't feel pride."

By this time Mary had a garland of her
favorite flowers, twined with myrtle, about
the brow of Edward ; and he laughed and
strutted off, holding his head very careful-
ly, that he might not displace it. Carlo
wagged his tail, and lapped Edward's
bands, as if he shared in the amusement.

" Very strange you do n't like gorgeous
flowers, Mary, when you think so much of
riches."

"Mary is forming every day a more accu-^
rate judgment of what constitutes riches,"
replied Mrs. C. " She would hardly covet
gaudy apparel now — always an indication
of a vulgar taste ; for even the grass of the
field will always outvie her."

72 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

Mary looked gratefully at her mother,
.«nd smiled ; but she did not speak, for she
knew that faults were not to be cured in a
day.

On the return of their father, the chil-
dren besought him to tell the story of the
poor idiot. He did, in a few words. It
was nothing strange ; every town will fur-
nish a similar example of the unhappy
shrouding of the human mind.

His mother was the daughter of a once
wealthy merchant, brought up in all th«
indulgence and splendor that money could
procure. She had married a man with lit-
tle education, and less principle, whose
only attraction seemed to be a very showy
person. His greatest offence, however, in
the minds of her parents, was, he had no
property. But the disastrous period of the
** Embargo," reduced father and son to the
same condition of abject poverty. Both
took to drinking, and drowned reflection
and reason in the intoxicating cup. The
daughter, always a woman of delicate
health and a weak mind, found for a

IDIOT JOBNNT. 73

while a refuge among relatives ; till char^
ity, waxing every day more and more
scanty, she was finally removed to the
alms-house. Here she remained many
years, a miserable example of indolence
and weakness ; appearing to have absorbed
all thought and feeling in her love for her
idiot child. Her attachment for Johnny, as
she called him, was less the operation of
rational maternal love, than a strong ani-
mal instinct. She would sit for hours with
his head resting upon her lap, Ustening 4o
his inarticulate murmuring; and respond-
ing to the word " mammy," with a thrill
of delight.

At length she fell ill, and was confined
many weeks to her bed. The idiot never
left her ; and it was distressing to hear his
perpetual moanings. He would point to
the window, and try to pull her from the
bed, as if he thought the fresh air would
restore her. It was with difficulty they
could remove him from the room when she
had ceased to breathe.

He was locked in another apartment,
/♦

74 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

but his plaintive cries of " Mammy, mam-
my," were too much even for his obdurate
keepet. The door was opened, and he
fonnd his way to the corpse of his dead
mother. He looked on the pale, shrunken
face, touched the hard, cold hand and
brow, and uttered one long cry of doubl
and agony. He clasped his arms about
her, and lay all night in the bosom of the
dead.

Since the burial, he had been sullen,
restless, wandering everywhere, calling
" Mammy, mammy."

George and Mary were much affected
at the recital of poor Johnny's story.

" Poor boy,'^ said George, " I am afraid
they wont try much to make him happy.
I don't know what they could do, though ;
for it will be difficult to teach him to love
anything else, now his mother is gone."

" O mother," said Mary, earnestly, " a
good mind is the greatest riches,"

" I am glad you think of its value, my
dear; it is certainly the greatest earthly
blessing; without which, nothing can be
of any real value to us."

IDIOT JOHNNY. 76

" And yet it is so common, that I never
thought of it before," said Mary.

'^ I do n't quite agree with you that good
minds are so common. True we don't
often see them so debased as in the case of
Johnny. We see every degree of intellect,
from the glimmering ray of the idiot, to the
comprehensive grasp of a Locke or a New-
ton. When we look at the vice and folly
of mankind, we are bound to believe,
either in some defect of mind or education
—probably in most cases the latter."

"How very unequal," said George,
thoughtfully. "We shouldn't expect it,
when God is said to love all his creatures
alike."

" If we consider man only in relation to
this world," replied Mr. C, " it would be si
very painful fact — ^far more so than it now
is. But we see him here only in the com-
mencement of his existence — with powers
as yet in their infancy. However lofty
may be his intellect, it is still but the germ
of the future spirit. The idiot is in nA way
different from the rest of us, except in the
circumstance of a body unfavorable for the

76 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

development of mind. But we hope for a
higher state of existence, where the pow-
ers, clouded and unawakened here, will be
clearly manifested."

*^ That is what it means in the Bible,"
said Mary — " to whom much is given, of
him much will be required."

Yes, that is the sentiment — and you can
easily understand how those best able to
comprehend and distinguish the right,
must be the most culpable for having vio-
lated its laws. Where much is given,
much may justly be required. We should
bear these things ever in mind, and add
daily to our stock of moral as well as intel-
lectual excellence, that our virtue may not
hang like a loose garment about us — likely
to slip away at the first breath of tempta-
tion — ^but constitute our very souls — ^be our
appropriate selves, — that the fearful time
may never come to us, when the little ap^
parent goodness we may have, shall be
stripped away, as being altogether dispro-
portioned to the mass of evil, and the soul
shall be left in its own naked deformity.

IDIOT JOHNNY. 77

Let us aim at exalted virtue — that at the
hour of death, higher powers, and loftier
conceptions, may rightly he ours ; for our
Savior has said, '^ to him that hath shall he
given, and he shall have abundantly ; but
from him that hath not, shall be taken even
that which he seemeth to have."

When little Mary knelt that night at her
bed-side, she did not fail to thank her
Heavenly Father fervently for the gift of
reason, for moral understanding, and all
the benefits that mifid can impart. She
wondered much how she could ever have
been unhappy, because the gift of riches,
80 called, had been denied her, when
wealth the most pure and exalted, the true
riches, had been lavished everywhere in
her pathway. She was warm-hearted,
and ardent, and these thoughts were pow-
erful feelings with her ; and when sleep at
length pressed her lids, a tear of love and
gratitude was resting upon her cheek.

CHAPTER IX.

WOMAN IN MINIATURE.

We have been friends together.

In sunshine and in shade,

Since first beneatli the chestnut trees

In infancy we played.

Mrs. Nortov.

Mrs. Goold lived over the way from
Mrs. Cleveland's, and the family were on
terms of the closest intimacy. The two
mothers would each take her youngest
child, and sit for hours together, in friendly
chat, plying the needle, and returning to
their own families at the time of preparing
the ordinary meal. I will not undertake
to say that scandal was never discussed in
these social meetings, for both were hu-
man ; but I know for certainty it was
never originated between them, for each
was not only amiable, but in the highest
degree conscientious.

Mrs. Goold, or rather I should say Mr.

WOMAN IN MINIATURE. 79

Goold, was the richer of the two ; but this
did not in the least regulate their inter-
course. Bouquets, and slips of geraniums,
were often exchanged ; and did either be-
come possessed of anything rare or beauti-
ful, it was always shared with friends over
the way. Indeed, were there any rivalry
between the two families, it consisted in
seeing which should rear the finest plants.
Mary and Jane were fast friends. I be-
lieve they were never seriously at vari-
ance but once, when Mary declared she
would never speak to Jane again as long
as she lived — a resolution she very wisely
broke in half an hour afterwards. The
baby-house of each was a perfect domestic
establishment in miniature. They were
very much alike, except that Jane's had a
wax doll, the present of a distant friend,
while Mary's family consisted altogether
of rag babies; but what was wanting in
quality, was amply compensated by num-
bers. Mary, having a great deal of what
Irving calls '* available tenderness," was
fond of multiplying her little pets, and she

80 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

usually numbered at least twelve of theni,
of all sizes; and the care of keeping them
in perfect order, as well as the rest of the
establishment, was very great

But Mary was very diligent and orderly f
and all looked, as the phrase is, like wax-
work. Jane was often obliged to call in
the aid of her little friend, not only in
dressing the doll, but in making other im-
portant arrangements in her household — a
call which Mary was always prompt to
obey.

Did either give a grand tea-party out of
the little cups and saucers, George and
William Goold were sure to be of the
party ; and they tasted the bits of cake
and cheese, and sipped the drops from the
wee cups, 1 must say, with great decorum —
very nearly as well as their lady-like sis-
ters. It is true they sometimes awkward-
ly tipped over a cup on the neatly ironed
cloth, which perhaps had been out on the
grass bleaching for a week before ; but the
little girls, with true household courtesy,
declared it was of no consequence.

WOMAN IN MINTATUBE. 81

As the boys grew older, they would
sometimes '^ snicker " out laughing, at
some of the grand evolutions of the table,
to the great dismay of the little girls ; a
circumstance which prevented them from
being so often invited.

Graces was the favorite amusement of
the children— George choosing Jane for his
partner, and William, Mary; and in case
of a crowning, the law of the play was al-
ways rigidly enforced on the part of the
boys. George was somewhat bashful in
so doing; but William, being two years
older, and having more assurance, some-
times seriously vexed Miss Mary, by ex-
acting two kisses instead of one. These
differences, however, were always happily
adjusted, without resort to weapons.
' Their very contrast of character served to
attach George and William to each other.
George was quiet and reflective; William,
gay and daring. From childhood he would
take the longest leaps, and climb the high-
est trees, of any boy about-, and his merry
laugh was the most musical in the world.
At the close of some reckless feat, he
8

88 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

^ould brush up his rich, curly hair from
his manly brow, and 'show his white teeth
in a smile of half triumph ; and all de^
clared William Goold the handsomest and
best natured boy in the village.

George, with less of animal spirits, was
quite as athletic. If his smile was not as
frequent, it probably was far more strik-
ing — as it always is, from the contrast, on
a sober face.

"What can you be drawing, father ? "
said Mary, observing him with pencil and
paper. " It is our little bit of a cottage, as
true as the world. What can it be for ? "

Her father smiled. ." Does it look very
mysterious? How would it look with a
small wing on there?" And he drew it
with his pencil.

Mary clapped her hands — "Ohj a fore
room, as Mrs. Henshaw calls it."

" I am thinking," said Mr. O. " of put-
ting on another room for a sort of library,
and you and George must help me plan."

" Have alcoves for books down one side
of the room," said George, " and let it
open by long windows to the garden."

WOMAK IN MINIATUBE. 83

" Delightful," cried Mary. " Now if we
could only have it carpeted and curtained,

how charming. I shall want Virginia"

Mary stopped, for she knew she was about
to say a very silly thing.

"We will have the windows all upon
one side of the room," said Mrs. C, " or at
opposite ends, to avoid cross lights."

The plan was finally adjusted, and the
family had many months of anticipated
happiness, as the work was not to be com-
menced till some time in the spring.

Mr. Cleveland had been able to make
contracts for building, which had added
very materially to the profits of his busi-
ness, and he began to feel that he might
indulge his family in a few of the little ele-
gancies for which their taste was 90 well
adapted. George, he had thought of edu-
cating for a farmer — certainly one of the
most honorable and virtuous employments
in the world ; — ^but his decided attaebmoQt
to learning had changed his mind ; and he
was now entering upon a course of study
preparatory for college.

CHAPTER X.

THE HENSIIAW FAMILY.

" Those few pale autumn fiowera,
How beautiful they are !
Than all that went befure,
Than all the summer store,
How lovelier far ! "

Caroline Bowles.

^ < The melancholy days have comei
The saddest of the year,' "

said Mrs. Cleveland, taking her daughter's
hand and drawing her shawl closely-
round her — for the wind blew cold and
chilly, and at every blast a shower of leaves
came rustling and eddying to the ground.

It was sad to see the work of a few
nights of frost. The forests, like the dy-r
ing dolphin, had assumed a thousand gor-
geous hues, each more splendid than the
last, till all settled down to the gray hue
of death and decay. The trees were
now nearly stripped of their foliage, a feyv
leaves only trembling upon the naked

THE HENSHAW C^MILT. 85

boughs, as if mourning over the fall of their
beautiful companions.

Mary's eyes glanced everywhere, in
search of some object of beauty. She esr
pied it, at length, in a little dell, open to th^
warm sun, and sheltered from the piercing
wind.

" Oh mother, how very beautiful ! vio-
lets never looked half so pretty before.'?
And Mary fairly knelt before the little tuft
of wild bk)S8oms.

" They are indeed lovely," said her mo-
ther ; ^' and can you tell me why 7 "

"Because all is so dreary about us— r
the trees naked, and the sad leaves upon
the ground: and these will be withered
too; the frost will chill their leaves, and
they will all be destroyed. How melan-
choly the thought"

" They will bloom again," replied Mrs. 0.
" When the frost and snows of winter have
pa$sed away, the little violet will emerge
from the dark earth, and appear as lovely
as ever. Everything that is earthly must
decay, sooner or later; — but there are things
that never die."
8«

86 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

"Oh yes, mother," said Mary, " I love to
thiiik so. Good deeds will live forever." •

" Yes, Mary, the body will decay, but
the soul must survive; and all its holy
emotions, its undying attachments, will live
again — becoming eternally more and more
perfect and exalted."

"Good bye, little violets," said Mary,
" you have made me sad, and happy too ;
you have made me think again of the true
riches — and I love you the better for it."

They now approached the door of Mrs.
Henshaw. It was wide open ; for that side
of the house was sheltered and sunny, and
two children were out making chip-houses
in the sand. A boy, barefooted and bare-
headed, was cutting wood by the door,
now and then suspending his employment
to stare at the passers by. When they
were out of sight, he would spit on his
hands and resume his labor.

Observing Mrs, Cleveland and her
daughter turn up to the house, he dropped
his axe and ran in, followed by the little
urchins, who threw down their blocks and

THE HENSHAW FAMILY. 87

fled like young partridges, looking over their
shoulders to get a last glance at the visit-
ors. A moment after, each face "was seen
peering out of a broken square of glass.

Mary ticklied a little, as she heard the
clatter of the broom, and rattling of the
andirons, and saw the inmates cast hur-
ried glances from the window.

Mrs. Cleveland looked grave ; and said
in a low voice, "proper management is
worth more than money."

Mrs. Henshaw now came to welcome
her visitors. She was not older than Mrs.
Cleveland, though she looked at least ten
or fifteen years her senior — the result of
indolence and want of thought.

Tipping up a chair to dislodge the crum-
bles and dust, she wiped it with her apron,
ftnd presented it to Mrs. C. ; and then
pushing a child from another, and leaving
it to pick itself up the best way it could,
she seated Mary.

In the mean while, numerous glances
were darted in from the doors and win-
dows, to catch a glimpse of the visitors ;

88 RICHES WITHOUT WIKCN9.

and the alternate light and shade from a
I{:ey-hole opposite Mrs. Cleveland, .showe4
that that also was occupied.

''I didn't know as you meant to oaU
l^gin," said their hostess, '^'ti^ so long
isiipce I 've been down your way- I wa^
telling Sal yesterday I must go soon, or {
should n't get there before the sa6yr gp^f
away. My rumatis keeps me in all winr

ter " " La, how young yoii look, Mfs^

Cleveland: seems as though you hadn't
altered any since you was a gal ; "

Mrs. C, smiled, and asked if Sarah wai
at home,

'' La, yes ma'am ; but she feels kind o'
proud, and is gone to slick up u little* Sal,

I say ; Sal, you ! " she screamed in a

loud voice, '^ come down here. You look
well enough ; what 's the use of being so
proud ? "

Sarah soon made her appearance, dressed
in a flaming calico gown, rather short, with
stout leather shoes, without stockings.

Her hair had evidently been slicked up,
as her mother said ; for it eould not be said

THE HENSHAW FAMILY. 89

to have been combed. She entered, one
hand holding a stray lock behind the ear,
and sidling along the room with the shy
air of an awkward girl.

She returned the salutations of Mrs. C.
and her daughter, with a sort of grunt;
and took a seat directly behind them, look-
ing down upon the floor with as much ear-
nestness as if her life depended upon it.

Mary enquired about the chickens and
Guinea hens, and proposed going to see
them.

Mrs. Henshaw, who had leaned forward,
resting both arms on her knees, looked at
them till they were out of the room ; —
then, turning to her guest, said,

^' Now there 's your Mary seems to take
to manners natrally — but our Sal I canH
teach nothing. Her father's bort her a
new silk gown, but it's no use — she won't
look like nobody."

Mrs. C. enquired if it was made up.

"La, no; I told her she must go down
and get you to help her on it — for if we
tried to do it to home, 't would get as dirty

90 RICHSS WITHOUT WIN08.

as pison 'fore H was half done. The young
ones are into everything. Sal's done a
good deal better since you showed her how
to take care of her clothes ; nobody dares
to touch 'em now, or she '11 be right into
'em.^'

Mrs. C. good-naturedly promised to help
Sarah on the new dress — and it waa deci-
ded she should come two or three times a
week and take her needle wprk, that she
might have the benefit of Mrs. C.'s instruc-
tion for a while.

Mrs. Henshaw was really grateful, de-
claring if anybody could make anything
out of Sal, it was Mrs. Cleveland.

The ladies now took their leave. '

Mary looked very mischievous for some
time. — ''Oh mother," she cried, when out
of hearing, '' I do wish you would let me
have one good laugh."

" It would be hardly just to yourself,
Mary, to indulge such a propensity, after
having made a friendly call. I look for
more honorable feelings in you."

" And yet it is so funny, I can't help it,

THE BENSHAW FAMILY. 91

mother, if I do laugh." And she gave way
to a fit of merriment.

"You would feel much mortified, if
the family should see you now, and know
the cause of your mirth. Remember sin-
cerity is above rubies."

Mary was subdued. — "It does seem,
mother, as if they might do better ; you
said the other day that they were not
poor."

. "By no means, Mary. Their circum-
stances are far better than ours ; but they
lack a part of the true riches. They are
honest and well disposed, but are deficient
in neatness and good management. Taste
and refinement are not purchasable arti-
cles : if they were, those who have money
would expend large sums for what would
make their riches respectable."

CHAPTER XL

POOR OLD HANNAH.

'' By the stame fire to boil their pottage,
Two poor old dames, as I have known,
WiW often live in one small cottage :
But she, poor woman, housed alone."

WORUSWORTH.

" Did you know that poor old Hannah is
sick ? " said Mrs.Cleveland to her husband,
" Mary and I carried her down a basket
of provisions yesterday, and I promised to
send her in some flannel garments."

** I am to make them up," said Mary.

'* I think," continued Mrs. C, " her sick-
ness is caused more from want of a com-
fortable fire, than anything else. Her
windows are broken, and she has no
wood, except what few chips and sticks
she is able to pick np."

" I will send her a load," said Mr. C.
promptly.

Mrs. C. looked gratified. "I thought
you would do as much. Mrs. Goold is

POOR OLD HANNAH. 93^

going to ask her husband to mend the
windows; and between us; alM think she
will be made quite comfortable."

"And I," said George, " will go, after my.
lessons, and cut the wood up for her."

His mother kissed his cheek, and called :
him her noble son.

In the course of a few days, poor old
Hannah (who since her mother's death:
had lived quite alone, for she had never
been married) had a blazing fire on the
hearth, and her little neat room was ren-
dered quite tight and warm. Jane and
Mary were fond of taking their work, or
even toys, (for they were great favorites
with Hannah, who was rather testy with
children, in the main,) and going to sit
whole hours with the poor lonely woman.

Hannah, unlike Wordsworth's Goody
Blake, would have sooner perished out-
right, than have taken a stick from the
property of her neighbors. She was some-
what irritable, but kind-hearted, and per-
fectly honest. She owned the small house
and garden in which she lived, and had
9

94 BTCHES WITHOUT WINGS.

been often urged to take a family in as a
help to her own support ; but sh« proba-»
bly knew her own nature best, and always
declined.

When well, she was glad to take iir
spinning and knitting, and thus contrived
to live pretty comfortably.

Under the kind attentioos^ef Mrs. Gooid
and Mrs. Cleveland, poor Hamnah was so&n
restored to health ; and befiDre winter had
set in in good earnest, Geserge and WilMami
were each presented by the grateful^ erea^
ture with a pair of m>k(ens, curioiisly
spotted, as a reward for preparing her
wood, bringing water, &c,

''Mother," said Mary, who had just
come in from Mrs. Goold*s, " Virginia Ma-
son is sick, and told Jane she wished I
would come over and see her. Are yoot wil-
ling I should go?"

" Certainly," said her mother; "fori be-
lieve you are growing wiser, and 1 shall
not fear to trust you."

Mary kissed her mother, tenderly. "I
do u!t often covet money now," she* said. '

Yiaanr to m sice. 96

Mrs. 0. coneluded to call with h«r
daughter. They were ushered into a
splendidly furnished room, where they
found Mrs. Mason, half dozing in a rock-
ing chair. They were hardly seated, when
a servant came in to say Miss Virginia had
declared she would n't take another bit of
medicine, and the nurse couldn't get the
drops down.

Mrs. Mason invited them into Yirginia's
room. They found her in violent alterca-
tion with her nurse, who appearied deter-
mined to force the medicine down hiur
throat, some way or other.

The entrance of visitors suspended the
scene. Virginia was really glad to see
Mary ; and when the latter took her hand,
die was astonished to feel its great heat.

"Oh, do take your medicine," said
Mary — " you are so sick."

*'I won't take another drop— that's
flat " — ^replied Virginia.

Mary could hardly comprehend the
scene. She looked at her mother, and
then at Mrs. Mason.

96 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

'* How loud you speak, Virginia," said
Mrs. Mason ; " do n't you know it is quite
vulgar to get angry?"

"I don't care if it is," retorted her
daughter; "I am teazed to death."

" No doubt you '11 get well, Virginia,"
returned the mother, in a drawling tone—
you are so cross : it 's a sure sign you are
better."

Mrs. Cleveland enquired if Mr. Mason
was well.

** No, he is not," replied Mrs. Mason ; " I
wish you would go in and see him : be is
sick, I believe — and I must say, as cross as
a bear."

As they were leaving the room, Virginia
called after her mother : — " I say I won't
take that dirty stuff ; and if Ann tries to
make me, I 'U scream murder."

" Let her alone, Ann," said Mrs. M,
"Virginia is so nervous," she continued to
her guest, "I really dread to have her sick."

They found Mr. Mason in a deep sleep;
and the fumes of brandy in the apartment,
as well as a richly-cut decanter filled with

Yimr TO THE SICK, 97

the materiail, showed bis sleep wa$ ^ a
kind not readily disturbed.

Mrs. Cleveland was surprised to see tbt
ravages that disease bad made on his per-
son. He was deathly pale, and bis fear
tures shrunken like one in the last stage of
decay.

'^ I dread to con^ into his room," said
Mrs. Mason, '^ he is so irritable : nothing
suits him that any of us do. He has been
sick now nearly two months; and I don't
think he has spoken a pleasant word till
to-day. And this is the first time I have
ielt at all ai^xious about him."

" He looks very sick," replied her visitor;
'' And you will pardon me, I fear thai is the
worst thing he could take," pointing to the
bottle of brandy.

Mrs. Mason laughed. ^' You and the
doctor belong to the temperance society ;
— we don't. Mr. Mason will have it; so if
is no use to talk to him about it. I wish
be were awake ; for you were always a fa*
vorite, and he would take any advice from
yflfli."

d8 RlCftES WITHOUT WINGS.

"I think Mr. Cleveland will come and
watch with him to-night, if you desire it,'^
said Mrs. C.

" We 've never had watchers," said Mrs;
Mason ; — " do you think he is so sick as to
need them?"

"I certainly do. His countenance is
very deathly, and he needs, I think, con-
stant attendance."

It was finally agreed that Mr. G. should
watch that night, or find a substitute ; and
they soon after took their leave.

Mary walked a short distance in silence ;
hut it was pretty evident she could not re-»
frain long from making her usual com-
ments.

'' The Masons have a splendid house,
and beautiful furniture. How handsome
Virginia's room looked! Yet I think my
little bit of a sleeping room is a great deal
prettier."

" How I should feel to be sick in that
rich, dark room, with not a book, or flower,
or any green thing about — and to be left
alone, too, with such a sour-looking nurse.

VISIT TO THE SICK. 99

^-Oh, if I am ever sick, I will try to be
pleasant, at least, so that people will like to
stay with me."

" Rest a while, my dear ; you are talking
very fast."

" Things are very rich at Mrs. Mason's,"
continued Mary ; " but somehow they
do n't look comfortable. Now our little room,
with the vines creeping about the windows,
and pots of flowers standing wherever they
will look pretty, in the windows, and on
the floors, and table — and the neat case of
books — and dear, dear little Edward, with
his basket of toys, and singing iike^st little
bird — oh, mother, ours is a great deal the
most comfortable, and, I think, looks the
best."

'^ I am glad you feel so well contented,
my dear little girl ; your taste and judg-
ment are both improving very fast. You
are learning, I see, to understand the true
riches. Virtue, intellect, and taste, in all
^eir various combinations, are worth more
than money, because they are enduring.
Honey is only valuable for the comforts

776067A

100 RICHES WITHOUT WINOS.

it can purchase, and the power it gives one
to do good. If we are rational, we shalt
need but little of it in order to be cooifort-r
able ; and if truly benevolent, we can do-
much good with a very small fortunes
When your father gave that load of wood
to poor old Hannah, he knew it was sqr
much taken from the little library her
wants to build for us. We must wart ^
while longer, till he can earn the sum tHutii
the wood cost ; but we can do better witlv*
out the room, than poor Hannah ciut with-'
out wood."

'^ Mother," resumed Mary, ^' the Masons
do n^t appear at all loving : I should neveit
want to be rich, or great, if I must lovc^
any less. How James screamed after tha
servant, when he missed his powder born
— and slammed down his gun: I wa&
afraid it would go off." .

''They certainly are very heartlees^;
Mary. Yet I don't like to see you so acute
in detecting their faults. I think more o£
seeing you amiable, than penetrating."

CHAPTER XII.

A BEREAVEMENT.

" Youth and the opening rose
May look like things too glorious for decay,

And smile at thee— but thou art not of those
That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey."
Mrs. Hemans.

"I do wish you would let my neck
alone, now I am so old," said Mary, pru-
dishly, as George came along and gave her
a slap on her shoulders.
• "How old may you be, pray," said
George, with affected gravity.

"I am in my twelfth year," returned
his sister, laying great emphasis upon the
word twelfth, and at the same time pat-
ting a water curl upon her forehead.

" Your ladyship shall be treated with
due respect," returned George, bowing
profoundly. Then, under pretence of kiss-
ing her cheek, he mischievously displaced
a whole row of curls she had stuck upon
one side of hor forehead.

102 RICHES WITHOUT WINGSL

Mary shook him off, half pettishly, and
resumed her employment.

" What can you be doing, Mary,'' said
Mrs, Cleveland, for the first time raising
her eyes from her work.

" Making herself look like Jane's wax
doll," replied George.

Mary presented her full rosy face to her
mother, the dimples playing about her
month, and lots of little flat curls stuck
about her forehead.

"Do you think it looks well, Mary?'^

" Don't you think so, mother," she rer
plied, almost triumphantly.

** Very well for a doll ; but not very wdl
for a sensible little girl,"

The ♦ obnoxious curls were soon put
stiiopthly behind the ears ; and as Mary's
hair curled naturally, it was suflfered.to
fall in ringlets over her shoulders.

Little Edward, who had been playing
with Carlo upon the floor, now came and
laid his head in the lap of his mother*
She took him in her arms, caressing him
gently; for she observed his flesh seemed
quite hot.

A BEREAYElffENT. 103

^ Mary brought a sponge and bowl of
water, and Mrs. & bathed his little limbic;
imd he soon fell asleep.
" The scarlet fever had begun to prerail
in the village, and had been very n3»TtaI
in the neighboring towns. Many a nsother
had been called to lay her cherished ooe
in the cold chamber of death ; and Mrs; C
could not but feel anxious at the appear-
ance of illness in one so beloved. She
Watched the restless slumbers of Edward
with a moistened eye; and when he
awoke, she presented the cooling draught
with all a mother's tenderness. The lit-
tle boy looked earnestly at her sober
face, presented his hot lips for a kiss, and
sank again to a disturbed sleep.

On the return of Mr. Cleveland, at nigfct,
the symptoms had advanced so rapidly,
that George was sent for the physician.

There could be no mistake; the scarlet
fever had exhibited itself in its most alarm-
ing form. George and Mary forgof every-
thing, in their attendance upon the lit-
tle sufferer. The choicest blossoms were

104 RICt^ES WITHOUT WINGS.

taken from the most beautiful plants, &itd
presented to his notice. Edward — true^
even in sickness, to the elegant taste that
had become a part of his little being —
would hold them in his fevered fingers,
and look upon them, as if they sent an
emotion of happiness through his whole
frame.

Nothing could exceed the gentleness and
patience of the dear sufferer. The most
nauseous medicines were taken, only to be
rewarded with a sweet kiss from mother —
and that, too, withouta word of complaint.
No deception was practised. He was not
told the bitter drug was "goody," in order
to induce him to swallow it; for in the Ut-
tle family of our story, the truth was never
tampered with.

When tossing with the restlessness of
fever, he would turn his sweet, patient
smile upon his mother, and lisp, " Sing,
mamma --sing :" — and the soft, tremulous
tones of her gentle voice broke with sad
melody the silence of the sick room.

Mrs. Goold, with a sister's tenderness^

A BfiREAVEMERT. 105

vtSiS at hand to ajSbrd assistance and com^
fort ; and poor old Hannah closed the door
of her solitary dwelling, and took almost
the whole care of the household matters,
while Mrs. C. devoted herself to her sick
child. Every one was ready to bestow
kind offices. Even Mrs. Henshaw, notwith-
standing her rheumatism, brought her most
infallible herbs to relieve the little favorita

On the fifth day of the attack, he ap-
peared quite free from pain, returned the
caresses of poor Carlo, who whined inces-
santly by him, and reached his little
hands out for a blossom of the rose tree.
Mr. C. took him in his arms, and carried
him about the room. Every familiar ob-
ject claimed a share of his notice.

George and Mary could scarcely restrain
their happiness. Mary brought her choic-
est treasures, and gave him to play with ;
for now, surely, she thought, he will get
well — and he seemed ten times dearer than
ever, from the danger he appeared to have
escaped. She was surprised and incredu-
lous, when the doctor told her be was no

better.

106 EICHBS WITHOUT WINGS.

Edward smiled languidly, ais all gather^
ed around him ; and put up his lips and
kissed each one. He then reached hi&
arms to his mother, folded them about her
neck, and again and again kissed her pale
face. Soon after, he sank into a cpiet
sleep. The anxious mother almost with-
held her breathing, that nothing might dis->
ipirb him. But the shrinking features^ the
heaving chest, told plainly that death wa»
there !

Mr. Cleveland took him from hi» mo-
ther's bosom, and laid him gently upon
the pillow. His breath grew more and
more faint, till it ceased altogether; and
the little family stood in silent tears, over
the lifeless form of one so lovely, and sa
beloved.

Many had been the bereavements of
Mrs. Cleveland, but she was now called to
feel the far more bitter grief of a mother's
sorrow. Mothers alone can tell how her
heart yearned to meet once more the dove-»
like beaming of those eyes, now closed in
death; to feel the Uttle arms about her

A BEREAVEMENT. 107

neck, and the soft lips pressed to hers in
gentle caressing. An unnatural stillness
rested upon the dwelling ; for the cheerful
prattle of little Edward, and the sound of
his busy feet upon the floor, were hushed
fovever.

Mrs. Cleveland had felt the full depths
of maternal tenderness ; but she had drank
too of the fountain of living waters — and
she now found it a well of life, pouring out
the fulness of hope and consolation : and
she laid her hand upon the brow of her
dead child, and uttered calmly — " The cjip
which my heavenly Father hath given me,
shall I not drink it?"

Sie severed a curl from his fair brow,
and laid it away, to behold in after years
with a chastened sorrow.

With her own hands she arranged the
small white robe, and brushed for the last
time the glossy hair, every fibre of which
was dear to her heart. Choice flowers
were spread upon his breast, meet em-
blems of his purity, and early decay.

When the snows of winter disappeared,

108 RICBBS WITHOUT WINGS.

and the meek flowers of spring smiled
upon the earth, George and Mary twined
blossoms for the grave of Edward ; for sor-
row had, for the first time, entered deeply
into their young hearts. The memory of
Edward was henceforth to be associated
with all that was pure and beautiful ; and
for them, a softened shadow was to rest
forever on all the bright things of earth.

CHAPTRR XIII.

COMFORT IN SORROW.

*' I lo6k around and see
The e^U ytays of mea } .
And, O, beloved child !
I 'm more than reconciled
To tliy departure, then."

CaROLIAS BOWLX8.

As the season advanced, and the honey-
suckles and pansies began to unfold their
blossoms, a bud of immortality bloomed
in the dwelling of the Clevelands.

Great was the delight of Mary. She no
longer complained of the crusty looks and
tones of PhcBbe Simonton, who for a few
weeks had managed matters in the little
family ; but, in the fulness of her love,
everybody looked amiable — ^and she kissed
the lean face of the nurse, almost as hear-
tily as she did the soft cheek of her mo-
ther. The baby brother became at once
die most important personage in the fam-
ily. And it was certainly edifying to see
10*

110 BICHE8 WITHOUT WINGS.

with what composure he received the kis-
ses that were showered upon him.

"You will call him Edward, I sup-
pose," said the nurse, as she sat with the
babe in her lap.

*' Oh no," replied Mary, earnestly; " that
belongs to our brother in heaven. Call
him Charles, mother — Charley is so pretty;
I shall love him as well again, with such
a pretty name."

PhoBbe now put the child into the bed,
and left the room. When the door closed,
Mary burst into tears.

" O, mother," she said, " how happy
we should be, if Edward were only here."

Mrs. Cleveland pressed the child to her
bosom, and kissed the cheek of Mary.

" We have another kind of riches, now
that Edward has left us. Can you tell me
what it is, Mary 7"

"Is it tears, mother — sorrow, that will
make our hearts better ? "

" I meant, my dear, a treasure in hea-
ven. Grateful hearts, and holy affections,
are a part of our treasure there ; but dear

COMFORT IN SORROW. Ill

little Edward has been taken from earth to
heaven, to constitute a part of our heavenly
treasures also. His death has brought the
riches of the unseen world more palpably
before us ; and now that he has entered, it
brings heaven nearer to us. I feel as
though a veil alone were suspended be-
tween us, waiting only the hand of death
to brush it aside. We shall think of Ed-
ward, and think oftener of heaven, now."

"And yet, mother, I wish he hadn't
died : he was always so happy and so
good."

" He was the more fit for heaven, my
dear. Oh, not for worlds, would I have him
return to this place of sin and suffering.
It is good to be afflicted ; for sorrow leads
us to the only true source of comfort."

" Oy dear mother, this world is hardly
worth living in, if we must part so often
with those we love best."

'^It is a very beautiful world, my dear —
full of lovely objects, and those calculat-
ed to develope our best affections. But it is
not our home : — that is in heaven ; and the

112 KICHES WITHOUT^WIflGS.

sufferings we endure here, are to puriff
us, and make us long for thai better
home.'*

/'I ahnost wish I could go now, mother ;
tox the world begins to look dark and
dreary, siiice little Edward died."

" If you had a bouquet of choice flowers,
Mary, could n't you give one of the choie-:
est to a friend you loved much ? "

" Yes, I should select the most beautiful
for the dearest friend."

" Then cannot you give up one dear ob-
ject to God, who is kinder than any earth-
ly friend? You grieved that the snows
and blasts of winter would scatter the
leaves of the violets upon the ground; and
yet, when our heavenly Father would take
our dear little Edward to his bosom, aii4
shield him from the storms of suffering and
sorrow, and place him in one of his own
beautiful mansions, to await there our
coming — like an ungrateful child, who, be-
cause he has lost one blossom, throws the
whole aside — you say the world is not
worth living in. We must live by fSeuth^

COMPORT m SORROW. 113

Mary, in the hope of a better world.
The hopes of heaven are the highest
riches — the only enduring riches."

Mary dried her tears. — " How much we
have to learn, mother ; oh, how thankful I
am, that I can think."

"You mustn't make your mother talk
so much," said Phoebe, tartly, and pulling
Mary from the bed-side. " See how you ' ve
tumbled the side of the bed." And she fold-
ed down the sheet, and arranged Mrs. C.'s
cap, to make her look as much like an au-
tomaton as she could.

^' Here, Mary — ^take that are pot of dirt
out agin. I won't have any sich works."

Mary looked round in astonishment.

''The geranium, my dear," said her
mothec. — '^ I wish you would let it stay,
PhcBbe; it looks very pleasantly."

" Pretty nurse I should make, to have
sich works. I do n't see what Mary stuck
it in here for. It 's unwholesome, and will
make you ketch cold." And she handed
the flower to Mary, and gave her a slight
push to the door. Mary was unusjsd to

114 RICHBS WITHOUT WINOS.

such treatment, and she stopped short.
But a reproving glance from her mother
was sufficient, and she went out.

*' I do n't see what folks want pots of dirt
about the house for " — muttered Phoebe.

" We think only of the flowers, PhoBbe."

" Flowers ! I do n*t see as they look any
better than the weeds and yarbs, that
grow about in the pasters, where they ort
to grow. For my part,I think it 's a dirty
lookin' sight — and terribly unwholesome^
too. Now you see how them are flowers
grow : well, they live on you. They can't
have the out door air, and so they live
on your breath. 'Tis terribly unwhole^
some."

Mrs. C. tried to explain her error to
PhoBbe; but she was quite positive, and
wound up by telling her she must n't speak
another word.

Mrs. C. was all obedience ; and tried to
amuse herself, by caressing the dear little
treasure in her bosom.

PhoBbe was an excellent nurse, yielding
in skill only to the village doctor. She,

COMFOBT IN SORROW. 11$

was sometimes imperious, but kind-heart*
ed aad virtuous. She loved babies, but
hated children ; and woe to the little one
that came in her way. She would not
strike it — ^but a look of hers was enough to
frighten it for a fortnight to come. Great
was the quietude of all families, while
PhoBbe was there. Not a child dared to
lift up its voice, or stir from the position in
which she had placed it. It would as soon
have thought of talking in meeting, as to
speak where Phoebe was. Little feet
moved quick, to obey her orders ; and if a
thing was to be handed to her, it was done
with a long atm, and suspended breath.

Mary had her full share of trials. Some-
bow there was a great deal to be done;
and the poor child found little time for
rest*— far less for amusement Did she take
a book for a moment, Phoebe's eyes were
everywhere, to see if there was not some*
thing to do— and something would be sure to
present itself. Like all persons of little or-
der, she was a hard-worker herself, and
contrived to make every one else so, where

116 RICHES WITHOUT WTN(JS.

she was. Mary's flowers were neglected—
and books were out of the question. All
these things were mere idling, and not to
be tolerated — so thought Phoebe. Mary
did not complain. On the contrary, she
exerted herself to appear cheerful, in the
presence of her mother — and was prompt
to obey the commands of Phoebe.

Her continued trials of temper, and un-
varying homeliness of occupation, how-
ever, wore upon her spirits, and made her
quite sad. One day when her mother was
able to go to the window, and observe the
freshness and beauty of the season, she
desired her daughter to bring her some
flowers from the garden. Mary obeyed
with alacrity. When she presented them,
the contrast of her mother's gentle tone of
voice, and cheerful looks, compared with
Phoebe's sharp voice, and sour face,
wrought so on her feelings, that she burst
into tears. *' 1 am very glad, dear mother,
you will soon be about. 1 will never com-
plain again, that we don't keep servants."

** Iknow what you mean," said Mrs. C,

COMFORT IN SOBBOW. . 117

tenderly — ^but these are trifles, compared
with what those suffer who are obliged
to keep help constantly. Remember, my
dear, that every trial ought to make us
wiser and better. Have you thought,
Mary, of another kind of riches, since
Phoebe has been here? "

" Oh yes, indeed, mother ; the wealth of
a good temper."

" That is it, Mary. A kind demeanor,
and gentle ways, are of infinite value in
this world. Without a good temper, one
must be gross, however rich. A cheerfhl
spirit is worth, every year, more than
thousands to its possessor."

CHAPTER XIV.

AFFLICTION WITHOUT COMFORT.

" And grreetings where no kindness is '''-

Wordsworth.

When we last visited the Masons, we
left Mr. Mason suffering from illness — the
combined consequences of high living and
the intoxicating cup. He lingered along
nearly a year, in a state of mental imbe-
cility; sometimes indulging in tremendous
fits of passion, that drove every one from
the room, and at others, gay with the
maudlin humor of the drunkard.

At length he died: and Mrs. Mason
frankly confessed it was a great relief to
her feelings, so long as there was no hope
of his recovery. The whole family ap-
peared of the same opinion ; for the tumult
of a disorderly household, and the rude
mirth of a heartless one, were scarcely sus-
pended for the brief period of the funeral
ceremony. All the externals of wo, how-

AFFLICTION WITHOUT COMFOBT. 119

ever, were duly observed. A long array of
splendid carriages, black robes, sable veils,
and white handkerchiefs, made grief ap-
pear at least authentic.

But if love did not mourn, selfishness
did. Bad speculation, an indolent mode
of doing business, superadded to a long
period of neglect, and finally sickness, had
made sad havoc with the fortune of Mr,
Mason.

On winding up his affairs, his riches
were found' to have taken to themselves
wings. The lawyer found it difficult to
make Mrs. Mason comprehend the extent
of their reverses. She had never even
imagined such a thing ; and she persisted
in continuing their ordinary mode of life,
till the flood of bills that poured in upon
them, without any possible means of liqui-
dating them, opened her eyes to the state
of their affairs. She was thus compelled
to retrench, for no one would trust them.
Some exulted in their reverses; others,
remembering that Mrs. Mason was a good-
natured sort of a woman, affected an easy

120 RICHES WITHOUT WIKGS.

kind of sympathy. Those of their otcn
standing, to use the favorite expression of
the lady herself, declared it was no more
than they expected. They always thought
it would come to this, &c. So, between
envy, pride and indifference, poor Mrs.
Mason was left without a single friend to
comfort or advise her.

Mrs. Olevoland really felt for her. She
knew her errors, but pitied her misfor-
tunes; and Mary shed sincere tears for
the reverses of .Virginia, who had been
obliged to leave a fiSishionable boarding
school, and return home. James was iti
college, and would probably have been
oompelled to leave, had not a college spree,
in which he was leader, caused his expul-
sion.

Things were in this state when Mr6. C.
and her daughter called, one day. The
grass was beginning to grow among the
beautiful marble tiles of the court, and the
splendid furniture was covered with dust.
Everything wore an aspect of neglect.
The room had the appearance of what

AFFLICTION WITHOUT COMFORT. 121

country people expressively term, having
been "slicked up." A thorough house-
wife's fingers would have "itched " to give
everything an entire renovation*-^to shake
out the rich folds of the curtains^ to wash
the muslin screens, brush down cobwebs,
scour mantels, sweep carpets and dust
furniture.

They met James in the avenue, with
his angling rod — for the thought of useful
exertion appeared never to have entered
his brain. He bowed negligently to Mrs.
C, and, stared at Mary with a freedom
that sent the blood rushing to her temples.
He had not seen her for nearly three years ;
and he evidently thought her a fine looking
girl. Perhaps we ought before to have
said, she was now nearly fifteen — too tall
for a child, and scarcely mature enough
for a woman — gentle, and somewhat timid
in her manners — artless, lively and affec-
tionate, with eyes and cheeks betraying
every emotion. Her father thought her
jnst what her mother was at that age, ex-
cept that her eyes and hair were some-
11*

12& RICHES WitHOUT WINGS.

what darker, and she had altogether more
tivacity.

But to our visit. They were met at
the door by a slip-shod serirant girl, with
ttncombed hair and greasy apron. Mrs.
Mason affected still the manners of the
fashionable lady— drawling out her Words,
and assuming an air of languor ; but they
sat with an ill grace. She looked anxious,
and care-worn ; ahd apologised fot the
evident disorder of her room, by saying
she was plagued to death for servants.
They were hardly seated, when the rat-
tling of wheels, followed by a long, heavy
ring, drew Mrs. Mason to the window.
Her cheek reddened as she recognized the
equipage of one of her city friends. She
sauntered back to the sofa, and drawled
" Not at home," to the girl who appeared
at the door, and seemed to be servant gen-
eral.

" Not at home, indeed ! " cried a sharp
voice; and at the same time a woman
dressed in the extreme of the mode, pushed
by the servant and entered the room. She

AFFLtCTlON WlTtiOUt COlifFORT. 1B3

ofeist a prying look abotkt the disordered
room, and seemed to addiBss Mrs. Mason
with a familiar and almost impudent air,
Mrs. M. affected a degree Of composure,
Which Was certainly very foreign to her
feelings ; for Mary, who sat quite near her,
said afterwards, the muscles of her fac6
Worked like tho^e of one who was contend-
ing with powerful emotions.

" So, then, you have taken Virginia from
school. Well, Lincoln says it was the
wisest thing you could have done. He
says you hate neglected retrenching quite
too long. You ought to have begun two
years ago— and you would have been bet-
ter off for it. But better late than never."

"Yes,'' said Mrs. M., replying to the
irst part of Mrs. Lincoln's remark^ "I
have taken Virginia home. I found I was
growing quite stupid without her. You
hav n't seen her since her return."

"Mary," she continued, turning to Miss
Cleveland, " wont you pull the bell ? "

Mary's priile revolted : but recollecting
the age and misfortunes of her hostess,

124 RICHES WITHOUT WtNOd.

she did as she was desired — followed at
the same time by the sharp eyes of Mrs*
Lincoln.

Mrs. Cv now rose to take her leave ; but
Mrs. Mason urged her $tay with such a
mixture of sincerity and earnestness, that
she sat down again; enduring, as best
she might, the affected air of patronage,
which blended with the manners of Mrs.
M., and made her intercourse with her
appear like that of an humble friend, if
not that of a dependant.

Virginia now entered. She was certainly
a somewhat handsome girl, with a modish
air and fashionable dress. She presented
the tips of her fingers to each guest, and
reclined daintily upon the sofa. She was
probably sixteen ; though the finish of a
boarding school had given her the manners
of twenty.

" 1 suppose," continued the persevering
Mrs. Lincoln, after some ordinary remarks
about Virginia, "you intend to take a
smaller establishment, and sell off a part
of your furniture. You can't expect to
keep it all."

AFFUCTIGH WITHOUT COMFORT. 125

"/ don't suppose any such thing," re-
torted Virginia, reddening to the eyes.
" Mother never will do it with James's and
my consent."

Mrs. Lincoln laughed sarcastically. ^^Ob)
I dare say you intend to live more expen-
sively than ever."

" If we do or not," replied the young
lady, pertly, " we shan't ask the advice
of our friends."

" Do n't, Virginia, speak with so much
spirit ; it sounds quite vulgar " — ^said Mr&
Mason."

Virginia rattled the keys of the piati0|
und was silent.

Mrs. Lincoln soon after took her leave*
Virginia could scarcely suppress her re-
sentment ^'An odious piece of impu-
dence," she muttered, as the door closed
after her guest.

Mrs. Mason settled hack upon the sofa,
and burst inio tears.

" Now do n't, mother," said the unfeel-
ing daughter — ''it is so vulgar^ as you
say) and a scene is so disagreefiUe."

126 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

Mrs. Mason sobbed hysterically.

** Come, Mary/' said Virginia, " go up
stairs with me. I do hate a scene."

Mary was too much shocked to move ;
but she whispered to Virginia — " Do go
and comfort your mother."

Virginia tossed back her curls, and
laughed scornfully. " La, we have such
tragicals every day : James and I are
used to it." And she took Mary's hand to
lead her out. Mary followed, at a hint
from her mother.

When they were alone, Mrs. C. took her
seat beside the weeping lady, and spoke
soothingly and affectionately a few words
of consolation.

'^ You are the only one that has shown
the least sympathy for me ; and you must
have heard of our misfortunes, too. Oh,
these heartless friends, that come only to
triumph over me; it is more than I can
bear. But the worst of it all is, Mrs. C,
my own children have risen up against
me;. James wd Virginia, that I have
spared no pains to educate, now almost

AFFLICTION WITHOUT COMFORT. 127

break my heart. And to think what I
have done for them." Here a fresh flood
of tears stopped her utterance.

Mrs. C. spoke of the hopes of a better
world, where reverses and sorrow were
unknown.

"Yes; so the minister tells me. But
that won't make things better in this."

" No ; but it will make you better able
to endure the trials of this life."

" 1 don't know how that can be, unless
these are taken away. You are naturally
religious, Mrs. C, but I am not."

Mrs. C. tried to correct her error ; but
the lady seemed hardly able to compre-
hend her — either from a pre-occupied mind,
or an habitual indifference to such sub-
jects.

When Mrs. C. and her daughter had
reached their home, Mary embraced her
mother tenderly. " Oh^ mother," she said,
" what a wretched family ; without for-
tune and without love ! How much I
owe you for having taught me what really
constitutes wealth."

CHAPTER XIV.

THE VIRTaOUS PROSPER.

'' For thus the royal mandate ran,
When first the human race began—
' Tbe 90Qialy friendly, honest man,
Wbate'er he be,
'T is he fulfils great nature's plan,

An' none but he/ "

Burns.

For the last few years^ things had gone
on about in the ordinary style with onr
little family, except that the integrity and
known talents of Mr. Cleveland, were
often tested in various offices of trust and
honor, so that his trade had become a
secondary consideration. After having
represented his district in the state legisla-
ture, he had recently been elected to Con-
gress. Every year gave a steady increase
to their worldly goods. They did not
affect style or splendor ; on the contrary,
their Uttle dwelling was a model of quie*
tilde and simplicity. Mr. Cleveland was

THE ViaTUOUS PROSPBH. 129

a fair specimen of what Americans, whose
proudest birthright is freedom, should ever
be-^sternly republican, intelligent, and in-
flexible in his adherence to principle.

Mrs. Cleveland was truly an American
Woman — unaffected, submissive, and nobly
devoted to her duties as a wife and mo-
ther. George bid fair to be all that his
parents could desire. He was about to
enter college in company with William
Goold, and had modestly hinted to his
lather his desire to engage in the ministry.

Mary had corrected many of the faults
of her early life ; but her active mind and
high temperament left her still something
to do. She was, on the whole, however, a
girl to be proud of — sprightly, intelligent,
and, if the truth must out, a handsome
'^yankee girl." Some thought her proud •
but they erred.. The impression was owing
to a certain lightness of motion, and an
indifference to all individuals who did not
approach, in some degree at least, to her
ideal standard of perfection.

George, one day, declared she couldn't
12

130 BICHES WITHOUT WIN09.

tolerate a ftiult in any one but herself and
William Goold ; an observation that sent
the blood in a torrent to his sister's face
and neck.

Charles — or Charley, as was most fre-
quently the pretty diminutive by which he
was called — was a joyous, reckless little
rogue, the very counterpart of Edward.
He was a universal favorite — the pet of
the neighborhood as well as of the family.
Mary's eye would often moisten in the
midst of her caresses — for the memory of
Edward was busy at her heart.

All prophesied he would be a spoiled
child. So lively, so affectionate, it was
not surprising he should be indulged; and
then the frequent absence of Mr. Cleveland
left nearly all the care for bis wife, wbQ
was thought to be too tender for the man<-
agement of a smart boy. But the strength
of Mrs. Cleveland's principles, and her
steady firmness of character, more than
counterbalanced the gentleness of her heart
Charles rarely attempted to rebel ; or if he
did, it was in the indirect wav — the daring

THE VIRTUOUS PROSPER. 131

df a gay and witty child, who tries the
strength of the parental rein.

The little library had been completed,
with windows to the garden, and alcoves;
and more yet — it was curtained and car-
fketed. Of a warm day, with the windows
thrown open, and the odor of innumerable
flowers from the extensive garden wafted
in, it gave one not a mean idea of Para-
dise. For the bee reveled in a wilderness
of sW-eets, and the bulterfly poised itself
upon the blossoms, and rested long in its
fulness of joy, while the music of innume-
rable birds, that built their nests amons
the branches of the fruit trees, filled the
air everywhere with melody. The hum-
ming bird fluttered like a gem above the
flowerets, and entered the room to drink
tlie nectar from plants that blossomed and
clustered about the apartment.

The shelves were filled with a choice,
collection of books, from the best authors,
which formed a subject of wonder for the
whole neighborhood. Old Hannah looked
at tlieni bewildered ; for she could not for

132 RICHES WITHOUT WIN08.

her life conceive why anybody shonld wadt
to read more than the Bible and Psalia
Book. All thought it a great waste of
money; and many declared they would
have taken the money and built a larger
house. There would have been some
sense in that, they thought. Mrs. Mason
wondered they should buy things that
made so little show, in comparison with
the expense. For her part, she would
rather have the money to pay the expense
of keeping a servant

Mrs. Henshaw thought they looked
'^mighty nice, if people wanted sich things;
but for her part, she would as lief bare so
many painted blocks." Even the Goolds
thought it rather superfluous— except Wil*.
liam, who was heard to declare, it was
the prettiest room in the world ; and the
girl who sat there reading or sewing, the
pettiest girl in the world.

It had become quite the fashion for the
young people of the village to walk down
to Mr. Goold's and Mr. Cleveland's, to
chat awhile at twilight with Jane and

TBS VIRTUOUS PROSPER. 133

Mary, or call for them to go on some rural
excursion. Even Yirginia would sometimes
join these little parties; for it was rumored
that the Clevelands had more genteel com-
pany than anybody else. Indeed, Mr.
Cleveland's library was a general attrac-
tion for the intelligent young men, who had
the privilege of availing themselves of its
treasures; and not only of procuring a
valuable book for their leisure hours, but a
smile or a gay remark from Mary.

James Mason at one time seemed dis-
posed to honor the family with his atten-
tions; bnt the wit and high spirits of Mary
easily repelled him. Not so with JaneGoold.
She despised him ; but her timid and gentle
manners were hardly sufficient for his as-
surance. With a feminine kindness of
heart that shrunk from the thought of giv-
ing pain, she in fact encouraged his ad-
dresses, when she only meant to avoid
wounding his feelings.

Mary was indignant; and remonstrated
warmly with her friend.

" What can 1 do ? " said Jane.
12*

134 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

" Why, have nothing to do with him ;
refuse to see him, if you can h be rid of
him any other way."

Mary was quite warm ; for she had seen
that Jane's intercourse with James, who
was an idle dandy, or as the phrasfe now
is, only a " loafer," gave her brother Geoi^
great pain^ — and she had somehow always
allotted Jane for Geoi^e's wife.

But circumstances accomplished for Jane
what her resolution had failed to do. An
uncle of James Mason gave him a flatter-
ing offer to take up his residence with him
at the south — and he soon left : and, it is
probable, in a week, or perhaps less, the
memory of the timid country girl was en-
tirely obliterated.

CHAPTER XT.

A SECRET.

Cktudia. " Oh, ftrther, father"—*
lUmza, <<WeU!

Dost love hha, Clattdla."

It was the college vacation ; and George
and William were both at home, spending
a few -weeks in the bosom of their fami^
lies, previous to the last exercises of their
college life, when they must each enter upon
the study of their respective professions — »
George preparing for the ministry, and Wil-
liam for the bar. Each abandoned himself tc
the innocent amusements of his age, and
left care and sorrow to seek other heartsi.

Virginia Mason, it cannot be denied, was
more neighborly than usual ; and William
Goold seemed especially attracted by her
modish manners and piquant style of con-
versation. Virginia seemed proud of her
conquest, if such it might be called ; and
the more, perhaps, that with feminine
penetration, she detected from the chang-

136 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

ing cheek of Mary, that it gave her pain.
Mary would never have confessed as much
to herself, though she more than once de-
tected herself speaking unusually harshly
of Virginia.

" She is certainly the vainest, proudest^
haughtiest girl in the land ; " she one day
exclaimed, on their return from a twilight
excursion.

'^ Remember, my dear, a charitable spirit
is a part of the true riches ;'' said her
mother, gently.

. Mary looked up, and met the eyes of her
brother fixed in sad scrutiny upon her
£aice. Conviction flashed upon her mind,
as well as the certainty that George had
read her secret before her. Her cheeks
reddened, but she was silent.

Mrs. Cleveland and her daughter were
seated in the library, when Charles came
running in from the garden with a bouquet
of flowers tied with a pink ribband. The
little fellow's curls were damp with exer-
cise, and his cheek glowed with health
and beauty. In his eagerness, he flung
his straw hat under a rose tree, and

A SECSBT. 137

climbed the piazza with all the speed his
fat limbs were capable of, and laid the
flowers in the lap of his sister.

Mary blushed deeply, when she observed
it was a simple sprig of myrtle and an
amaranth — the sentiment, ^^ love etemaV^

" Where did you get it, Charley 7 "

'^ Mr. Morey gave it to me, and told me
to carry it to sister."

Mary certainly looked disappointed. She
could interpret flowers, and she was well
aware that Henry Morey knew it The
sentiment expressed in the pretty bouquet
she held in her Angers was unequivocal ;
and she sat long, irresolute and lost in
leverie — her varying cheek expressing
every emotion of her mind.

Mrs. Cleveland occasionally glanced at
her daughter as she thus sat; — and if a
smile of maternal pride crossed her placid
features, it need not be surprising.

Henry Morey was a young lawyer who
had recently settled in the village ; of splen-
did talents and unexceptionable character,
and more than all, a great favorite of Mr*
Cleveland. Mary knew this; and she

138 RICHES WITHOUT WI.VGS.

sighed to think how impossible it was to*
frame a reasonable excuse for rejecting
him.

'' What shall I do with the foolish thing,
mother l " she at length said.

" Keep it, certainly, my dear."

'* But the sentiment — I cannot appro pri*
ate that ' Love eternal ' I can never feel
for Henry Morey." And the cheek of the
young girl changed from red to pale, and
her lip quivered.

Mrs. Cleveland looked surprised, and
was about to reply — when Mr. Cleveland
entered, and Mary was glad to retreat to
the garden. She seated herself in a rustic
bower, and gave vent to the feelings of her
young heart in a flood of tears. A slight
rustling of the leaves made her look up —
when she saw Henry Morey standing be-^
fore her ! Mary dried her tears.

'' My simple gift is rejected, Mary ; " he
said, in a low voice.

" You must impute it to the wayward-
ness of my heart; " replied Mary, with a
half playful air.

" Never. Mary Cleveland must always

^ A SECRET. 139

have rational motives for her conduct. I
must only regret that I am so little worthy
of her esteem. And yet," he added, more
earnestly, "you are young, Mary: time may
change your sentiments. You scarcely
know your own heart, yet. My devotion,
the depth of my attachment, may, I can-
not but think, create love. Let me but
hope that at some future day "

" No — I must be explicit," said Mary,
firmly. " I respect and esteem you. You
are my father's friend ; and as such, have
the strongest claim upon my regard. But
as to a warmer feeling, it can never exist."

" Such decision, at your age, Miss Cleve-
land, can only be the result of a prior
attachment."

Mary turned proudly away, her cheek
burning with blushes.

" Forgive my freedom, Miss Cleveland.
I meant not to oifend ; but if I may not
love, I shall at least respect you, and the
sincerity, and I believe justice, of your
sentiments."

He bowed upon her proffered hand, and
retired. But Mary's trials were not yet

140 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS^

over. Her father had seen Henry Morey
retire sad and disappointed ; and his sym*'
patbies were at once enlisted for his young:
friend. He laid his newspaper on the seat^
and glanced almost sternly at his daughter..

Mary trembled, and burst into tears.

" I should be sorry to suspect ywtt of
waywardness, and the silly vanity of your
sez, Mary," he said. "You must have
strong feelings, for a girl of your age, if
you have decided you cannot love Henrjr
Morey, when you have never thought t^
make the attempt."

"It would be useless, father," replied
Mary.

" You should n't say it, till you have
tried. I hope you haven't rejected him
decidedly."

" I have " — said Mary, in a faint voice—r
at the same time folding her arms about
her father's neck. She kissed his cheek,
and was about to retire.

Mr. Cleveland retained her hand, and
seated her beside him.

" I have spoken harshly, my dear," he
said, tenderly; "but it has been one of

A SBCBBT. 141

ibe dearest wishes of my heart to see you
united tp Henry Morey. You have th«
wealth of a frank heart and ratioiMtl mind,,
and I \^ill not now charge you with folly.
Bat I mast own I am greatly disap*^
pointed.'^

Mary was scrftened. " I will do what-
ever yon desire, she said, in a faint voice.'^

" Never, my child. Your affections shall
never be thwarted by me — ^nor your choice
biased."

" Thank you ; thank you ;" said Mary,
earnestly. '*Iknow you are not weary
of your daughter, and I am quite happy
at home."

Mr. Gleveiand kissed his daughter's
brow, and was about to rise, when a new
thought seemed to strike him.

" This is certainly unaccountable, Mary.

If I could think of any one else " *' But

there is no one who could possibly have
engaged your affections."

Mary playfully put her hand to her
father's face. "Why not think I have
so much love for our dear circle, that I
have none to spare for any one else ? "
13

142 RICHES WITHOUT ¥riNGS.

" That won't solve the mystery. There
was James Mason, but he was only cou^
temptible."

" And pale Samuel Vernon," said Mary,
^the minister's son — and John Henshaw,
the veritable Dnmbedikes of the village—
and tall Mr. Simonton, the pedagogue —
and a score more of unvanquishables.
Safe — ^safe — I assure you, father. My heart
must be invulnerable to stand such an
array." And the lively girl laughed with
all the elasticity of a young heart.

"And William Goold, that you haven't
named ; " said her father, fixing his eyes
upon his daughter's face.

" And poor lame Saunders, the poet ; "
added Mary, affecting the same air — ^but
her cheek was dyed with blushes, and her
voice faltered.

*• I have your secret, now, Mary. You
are not apt at deception, and your cheek
is a very tell-tale."

Mary trembled, and turned away.

" You are unaccountable, Mary. Why,
he'perpeiually flirts with Virginia Mason."

A SECRET. 143

" I know it, father; but he does not love
her., Let us drop the subject now."

^' Has he said he loves you ? " persisted
her father.

" Oh no— never ; " replied Mary, some-
what distressed. ^ ^ Let me go to my mother ;
little Charles is calling me."

Mr. Cleveland kissed her cheek — and
Mary walked sadly up the avenue.

CHAPTER XVI.

PRIDE AND ILL-TEMPER.

** I prithee, daughter, do oot make me i

— ' " ootbiDg could have subdued naiure

To such a lowness; but his unkind daughters.'^

- -Kiira LCAR. -

It was a mystery to the whole neigh-
borhood, what could support Mrs. Mason
and her daughter. True, they kept but
one servant, who was so slatternly and
hnbecile that no one else would have her,
and who was therefore content with a
home and such cast-off garments as they
could spare. Their oXA friends had nearly
all forsaken them, now that wealth and
fashion were no longer theirs — a circum-
stance less regretted by Virginia than her
mother, as she was willing to accommo-
date himself to the society of the village.
It was melancholy to see the ruin that
time was every day making in the fine old
house and elegant enclosures. Rank grass

FBIDB ANP II^L-TEMPER. 14S

was springing from the worn piazza, and
the marble court was almost buried in
weeds. It needed but a glance, to tell that
poverty and mortgage had claimed the
once elegant mansion.

James occasionally wrote home a rattling
letter, filled with descriptions of races,
cock-fights, and all the et cetera of a
jockey and a bully. In his own boisterous
enjoyment, the circumstances of his mother
and sister were all forgotten. Once he
alluded to Mary C, declaring if she were
only at the south, she would create a tre-
mendous sensation; on reading which,
Virginia tossed her head, declaring, *' Jim
ks a greater fool than ever."

Virginia contrived to keep up a dashing
style of dress, too often at the expense
of her mother's wardrobe; and as Mrs.
Mason had by no means lost the same
kind of passion, frequent and violent alter-
cations ensued, in which Virginia, from her
youth and violent temper, was sure to
come off victorious, and in possession of
the contested article. Indeed, Mrs. Ma-

13*

t46 AICBS8 WtTHOVT V3IiOfl.

Ion's energios v»re rapidly declining ; njiA
-vi^hea reaison and .argument failed ^irithbeot
daogbter, ;sh6 had re«ort to the last i^fugo
of imbecility-rtlMit of endeavoriog to «x-»
cite her compassion. .But ahe might aa well
hare appealed to the lock of the deaert.

'' Who gave you liberty to wear my
shawl?" she one day exclaimed harshlyr
as her daughter sauntered negligently in,
with a splendid ca^mere upon her shoul-
ders.

'* I took the liberty, madam ; " was the
ungracious reply.

** Well, do n't you do it again ; " retorted
the mother, her face glowing with rage.

*' Bless me, mamma, you have always
told me it was quite vulgar to be angry ;" —
and she disengaged the shawl from her
shoulders and flung it at her mother*

''My embroidered pocket handkerchief,
too — ^I tell you, Virginia, you shall not have
it: I '11 burn it first, you impudent,"

''Mamma, mamma," cried the young
lady, with a most provoking air, "don't
call naiups ; you used to say it was very
naughty."

" GSviB zne ihe haadkecchitf, I say ; ^^
omd the moiher, pale Tirtth rage.

. '' Certiumly, mammiij when I haTe done
with it."

•^ jQAtantly, Virginia. You '11 drivie me
mad. You are all father— every inch of
you; and he was enough 'to provoke a
saint"

The young lady bowed profoundly. —
'' Thauk you for the compliment; but the
dear pocket handkerchief is just the thing
for me. You are quite too old for such a
piece of finery as this ; a plain cambtic .is
^H as good for a snuff-taking lady.^^

Mrs. Mason's temper had now reached
a climax when a redaction must be the
result. She sank into a chair, and bursl
into toars. ^'Just to think whai I have
dow for you, Virginia !^— and this is the
return." And she put her handkerchief
to her face, and rocked back and forth, as
if there were fiometbing tranquillizing in
the motion*

Vif ginia eyed her with a look of scorn.

" There, that is always the way. When

148 RICHES WITHOCT WIN08.

you can't have everything according to
your own will, you hegin to tell how much
you have done for us. I am sure I can't
see it — ^nor James neither."

"That is very true— but it don't aher
the case, Virginia; it only proves your
ingratitude."

" Ingratitude? poh ! I do n't see what I
have to be grateful for, unless it is for a
sound scolding every day of my life. I 'm
sure I shall be glad when I am married,
so as to get rid of such a fuss every day I
live."

" You will never get a husband, if it is
known how you treat me, Virginia."

" Poh ! I guess I stand as good a chance
as ever you did." And the young vixen
turned to the glass and adjusted her curls,
while her face was still glowing with
scorn and rage.

Mrs. Mason saw it was useless to con-
tend ; and she sat looking upon the soiled
carpet with an abstracted and melancholy
air. Had not Virginia's heart been com-
pletely hardened by selfishness and vanity,

^msm AND ILL-TBS^BB. 149

«he woald have been touched at her wan
and wretched countenance. Premature
age and misfortune were rapidly underr
mining both her health and reason.

Yirginia, seeing her mother silent, and
conscious of victory, left the room, slam-
ming the door after her.
. Mrs. Mason unconsciously thought aloud.
■*' I am sure I do n't know what I have
lived for. There is nothing in this world
that I care anything about. I might a«
well be dead as alive ; only I can't some-
how bring my thoughts to another world.
Stcange — soon as I begim to think, they
run right off upon something etsei. Well,
2 sh^U know all about it when I do die."
And she folded the shawl, and loitered
fyom room to room, with the indolence and
imbecility of a vacant mind. '

Mrs. Cleveland often called upon her;
and tried to rouse her from her apattiy, by
the many attentions suggested by a kind
heart. She sent her books and flowers,
aad engaged her in cheerful and rational!
conversation. Mr. Cleveland rather ridi-

CHAPTER XVII.

CONCLUSION.

'' When soon or late they reach- that coast,
O'er life's ruugh oceBu driven,
May they rejoice, no wanderer lost—
A family in Heaven/' Bvbh0«

George Cleveland and William Goold
had entered upon their professional studies.
Their lively letters amnsed and delighted
each family — for they were held almost as
common property. William's were filled
with witticisms and gay commissions for
his sister, and often to Virginia Mason ;
while his silence with regard to Mary was
a puzzle as well as a grief to his sister.
George's had a higher tone of feeling; and
it was evident he would carry no unpre-
pared heart into the sacred desk. Reli-
gion — fervent, self-denying and pure, that
would glory in poverty and trials, if thus
he might be made perfect for the work of

CONCLUSION. 153

his divine master — ^as the reigning prin-
ciple of his heart.

Nor was he already without those trials
that were to make him " perfect through
Buffering." Henry Morey was the con-
stant guest and companion of Jane Goold ;
and her gentle and timid nature seemed
to acquire new loveliness, while receiving
support and the treasures of thought from
her gifted lover. George saw this, but he
bowed meekly to the lot appointed him.
He only devoted himself with a stronger
and more single purpose to his sacred
duties.

" Let us walk in the garden," said Jane
Goold, putting her arm about the waist
of Mary. The two girls entered the
bo\yer, over which the honeysuckle was
lavishing its profusion of sweets.

" Do you know, Mary, I shall want you
for bridesmaid, one of these days ? "

" Not for you and Henry Morey ! " re-
plied her friend.

Jane blushed, and a slight smile crossed
her features.
14

154 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

"Why, Jane, it will kill George; he
loves you better than anything on earth."

Jane leaned back, and burst into tears.

** Forgive me, dear Jane ; I meant not to
distress you ; but my excellent brother —
did henever tell you he loved you*? "

Jane shook her head, silently.

'*! must speak frankly, Jane. You are
too precipitate — too irresolute. You love
George — yes, you have long loved him;
and you are all the world to him. (And yet
what right have I to betray his secret 7) O,
Jane, you do n't know the value of human
love. You do n't appreciate the sacredness,
the never failing wealth, of a loving heart.
You wrong yourself and others 1 "

Jane looked greatly distressed.

"It is all too late, Mary : I have not
your strength of character."

" My strength of principle, you should
say, Jane. Do you think I would dare to
go to the altar, promising to love one,
when my whole heart belonged to another 1
It is profanation, Jane."

CONCLUSION. 155

Jane wept ; and her varying cheek told
her distress.

Mary took her to her heart; and felt,
truly, she had done injustice to her gentle ,
nature by her severity.
^ " Do you not wrong the generous and
high-minded Morey, Jane, to, wed him
thus?"
Jane assumed an unusual firmness.
"No, Mary, not now. I will speak
frankly. I might have loved Georg?, had
I known my affections were returned.
But it is too late now. I shall be all to
Morey that a wife should be ; and even in
love, all that he could ask or desire."

Mary looked at her friend almost with
incredulity, as she uttered this, with blush-
ing cheek and a tremulous tone of voice.
"Can love really be transferable?" she
said.

" You wrong me, Mary," said Jane, re-
lapsing into her ordinary timid manner.

" Well, Jane, George has a lofty spirit.
It will not sink under this trial, great as it
is; and I know he will daily crave the
best gifts of Heaven for you and Morey."

156 RICHER WITHOUT WINGS.

" Mary, George is too heavenly for
earthly love. I should tremble at the
shadow of a fault in his presence. Morey
is manly and virtuous, but not too exalted
for one like me."

Mary felt this was in a measure justj
for often had her own impassioned nature
recoiled from the presence of George, a$
from a being of supernatural excellence,

" My lover, Jane, must be invested with
all that is good aqd excellent. I shall Iovq
him more in proportion as h^ ip exalted
|it)ove my frailties."

" That is what William s^iys," replied
Jane ; " he thinks few would dar^ a3pir9
to your hand."

Mary's cheek crimsoned, and she turned
to pluck a rose-bud, which she twined in
the hair of her friend.

But our story is drawing to a close. We
must anticipate events for a few years, in
which time Jane had become the happy
bride of Henry Morey, and resided in a
rural cottage, adorned with all the ele-
gance that taste and wealth could supply.

CONCLUSION. 157

George and William had each entered
tipon their respective professions, tinder
circumstances highly favorable to their
future eminence. Thousands crowded to
hear the inspired eloquence of the young
divine, who, forgetting the things that are
behind, only pressed forward to the prize
of the mark of the high calling, which is
in Christ Jesus, our Lord. All earthly
emotions seemed swallowed up in the one
absorbing desire, to make known to all the
knowledge of the truth, the blessedness
and peace there is in believing. His visits
to his native village were necessarily un-
frequent ; but his mother's heart was filled
with gladness by his many letters, replete
with tenderness and filial duty, as well as
the loftiest piety.

Mrs. Mason is more than suspected of
drowning sorrow in the " red wine-cup."
She has become almost idiotic; partly in
consequence of her ill habits, and partly
from the incessant ill-humor of Virginia,
who, having failed to secure William
Goold, as well as a score of others for
14*

158 RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

whom, it is ,said, she spread h^ toils, is
becoming more than ever intolerable in^er
temper. She declares the moment hejp
mother is gone, she shall start off to seek
her fortune; a remark, bad as it is, that
shows a lingering sense of filial duty.

Mary was called at one time to attend
the bed-iside of her friend, Mrs. Morey,
Sickness lay with a heavy .hand upon her ;
and a snowy lawn covered the limbs of a
dead infant. Mary embraced her friend.
Jane wept bitterly. " 1 have nurtured
only for the grave," she said, in a faint
voice, pointing to the infant

" Oh no, Jane, not for the grave, but for
heaven."

"I shall soon follow it, Mary; and
what will become of Henry? I feel only
for him."

Mary spoke gently the words of conso-
lation. She soothed her as she would a
sick child.

" No, Mary — ^no. I feel that I must die,
and I have one request to make. You
know our friendship, even from childhood.

CONCLUSION. 169

You must promise by that to do as I de-
sire."

'' I will do anythiag to make you happy,
Jane."

Jane appeared as if schooled to a dread-
ful composure. She took the hand of her
friend, and drawing it to her bosom, said
solemnly — ''Promise, when I am dead,
that you will wed Henry ; that you will
love him as I have done."

Mary was greatly shocked. She looked
upon the pale, calm, features of the young
wife, as if she half doubted her sanity.
But reason sat unshocked; it was only
the undying attachment of a heart, that
sought the happiness of its object when
itself should be cold in death.

" You do not promise, Mary. Do — for
the sake of our long friendship ; that 1 may
die, feeUng that Henry will not be utterly
desolate. Had my babe lived, I might not
have made the request : — that would have
been an object of tenderness for him. I
should have lived again in her smiles.
But, Mary, you must — will be to him, all

160 RICHBS WITHOUT WINGS.

that I have been. You will deck my
grave with flowers, and talk of me. If it
is permitted me to witness your devotion
to Henry, I shall forever bless you."

She turned her head heavily, exhausted
with the effort she had made.

"Jane," said Mary, "this is not sub-
mission to our Father's will. Leave all to
jiiis disposal, and all will be for the best."

The tears swelled from beneath the
closed lids of the wife, and she pressed the
hand of her friend. " O, Mary," she said
faintly, " to lie down in death, so young,
and with so much to love ! "

"You are excited, dear Jane. I think
you will yet live ; but all depends upon
quietude. I will not leave you."

Jane smiled faintly, and sank into a
sleep as calm as that of an infant.

Mary stole to the garden to enjoy its
freshness and verdure, after the scene of
excitement she had just passed through.

William Goold was there before her.
He hastened to arge eager inquiries as to
the £5Lte of his sister. It was a common

CONCLUSION. 161

bond of sympathy. Even the proud and
light-hearted William Avept; for Jane had
been so gentle, so dependent, that she had
become almost necessary to the very exist-
ence of her brother. He pressed the hand
of Mary gratefully, when assured of his
sister's safety ; and that moment of sym-
pathy removed the diflSdence of years.
William ventured to prefer his suit to thQ
high-minded and long-loving Mary. We
need not tell the result. He has since
been heard to say '' that he has found
the true riches in an excellent wife."

We need only say further, that Mrs.
Morey lived many years to love her husband
herself, instead of by proxy. And it is
probable that Mary was loved a great deal
better as the wife of her brother William,
than she would ever have been, as the
second wife of her Henry. But this was
a subject sealed and sacred between the
two friends, of which they were never
accustomed to speak.

Thus have we brought our subject to a
close. It contains the annals of every-day

162 * RICHES WITHOUT WINGS.

life, with little to excite; such as every
town and village may present to even a
casual observer. If we have showh that
money merely, cannot confer happiness or
respectability — that religion, intellect, vir-
tue, taste, cheerfulness and health, are the
real, the only true riches, our object will
have been accomplished.

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